Spitfire
by The.Firing.Squad
Summary: A three-way tug of war begins between the humans, the Autobots, and the Decepticons for the young girl infected with the very life force everyone believed to have disappeared...The All Spark.
1. Chapter I

**Spitfire**

_Chapter I_

_

* * *

_

_"I'm no Superman," _- Lazlo Bane.

* * *

_Please don't let it be who I think it is,_ he thought to himself with a grimace. _Not today._

His approaching footsteps caused each cluster of students to glance up at him, their conversations momentarily forgotten. Whispers diminished into silence as they parted for him in shuffling waves, only to begin again once he had passed. He couldn't catch much of what was being said, but the tones in which the students were speaking did not sound critical, merely curious. _Young, Newbie, Sort of cute_; the partial descriptions of himself he managed to hear caused a smile to tug at his lips. Meeting the eyes of those who observed him, he readily returned whatever shy giggles and nods of acknowledgment were thrown his way with the level expression of someone who was used to and completely comfortable with being the center of attention.

However, his composure faltered as he slowed to a halt before the loose circle that had formed in the middle of the hallway. There was no question as to what the observers, their necks craning as they jostled against one another, were trying to get a better look at, and setting his jaw determinedly, he began to tap and tug at whatever loose arms and shirttails he could find. Shuffling through the grumbling students, he made his way into the throng and clumsily stumbled into its center.

Trying to ignore the unnerving silence that had followed his unexpected introduction, William Owens observed the scene before him, his eyes stop-starting as the connections began to form in his head. It took him only a moment to deduce what had happened. Nothing about this particular scuffle was hard to understand; it followed the pattern of every fight he had ever broken up that involved, and was almost always instigated by, Antonia Marez.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Owens let out a sigh. "Antonia." He focused his gaze on her, hoping that it was steady enough to convince her that he was tough and wise in the ways of dysfunctional teenagers instead of nervous and scrambling to understand the students who were, at the most, only seven years younger than he was. "Why am I not surprised?"

The tiny girl in question glanced up at him as he spoke, though her eyes never directly met his own. Blood dribbled from her wounded nose in a thin river, dripping off the rise of her pouting bottom lip and pattering against the floor in rhythmic rainfall. Strands of her hair stuck to the olive skin of her face due to the mixture of sweat and blood that stained her cheeks like war paint, and as she attempted to brush them away, she only managed to get the tips of her fingers dirty. She scowled as she dropped her hands to her sides in defeat.

Across from Antonia sat the captain of the varsity football team, Derek Indo. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, his cheeks were gouged with scratches and his nose was pouring blood, a waterfall compared to Antonia's stream. His eyes were narrowed with something that swayed between hatred, fright, and embarrassment, and he shot Antonia quick, skittish glares that, despite the fact that he was flanked by a friend on either side, were filled with unease.

Searching the senior's twisted expression, Owens couldn't help but pity him. He obviously hadn't known that Antonia Marez could pack such an intense punch when she wanted to. She was so small, so thin; the top of her head did not even clear the boy's elbows, let alone his shoulders. Who would have thought that she could K.O Derek Indo?

_Varsity jock versus short Spanish spitfire,_ he thought, and for a moment, he was sure that he would collapse into brays of exhausted laughter. _Let the battle begin: DING DING._

God, he needed an aspirin.

* * *

"Eff diss ducking ditch doke my dose, I - "

"You'll do _nothing_," Owens interrupted, glaring pointedly in Derek's direction. "You'll also keep your 'ducking ditches' and all other curse words, mispronounced or otherwise, out of my office. Is that clear, Mr. Indo?"

The senior scowled and mumbled something unintelligible as he sank further into his seat. Although he childishly refused to make eye contact, he obeyed.

Letting out a sigh, Owens glanced from one to the other, from victim to antagonist: muscle-bound Derek Indo seated in the short, leather chair on the left and tiny Antonia Marez, her face clean of blood, curled in the chair on the right. Every other moment or so, Derek's eyes would dart over to Antonia as though expecting her to finish what she had started. Antonia, however, remained still and quiet.

"We must decide what should be done about this situation," Owens said, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. "But before I hand out any punishments, I would like to hear both sides of the story. Despite the fact that you two were _stupid_ and _immature_ enough to wail on each other, I would appreciate it if you let one another's stories be told without any interruptions, no matter what's said. If you object to something that the other has said, you will wait until they're completely finished before you say a single word. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Antonia replied. She was the epitome of restraint, her expression blank. Her unusual reaction unnerved him.

"Yeth, thir," Derek muttered, dejectedly rubbing the ball of his wounded nose with his thumb. As Owens observed him, the pity he had felt upon seeing Indo collapsed against the lockers with a dull expression of surprise sketched on his face returned with a vengeance. His eyes glancing from Indo's swollen bottom lip to his bruised cheeks and, with a wince, to the dried blood that created maroon rings around his nostrils, he finally locked gazes with Derek and nodded, gifting the senior with a small smile. "All right, buddy. You go first."

Derek smiled gratefully, a charming grin that Owens realized with a start was marred by a chipped front tooth, undoubtedly another of Antonia's gifts. He brushed a hand through his short crop of blond hair and gave Antonia a wary glance before shifting his chair forward a few inches. Then, letting out a deep sigh, he began.

"I was with my fwendths in the hallway, jus' goofing oth, getting ready to go home. Then, all of a thudden, _Antonia_," her name spoken with bitter emphasis, "giveths me thove and thays 'Who do you think you are?' I wath like, 'What are you talking about?' becauth I didn't understanth.

"But thee didn't ansthur. Inthead, thee tharted hitting me, kicking me, punting me. I only hit her back onceth becauseth...Well, it...It really hurt. She wath _really_ hurting me." This was amazingly hard for Derek to admit; Owens could actually see the boy's jaw working with the effort he needed to say it. The idea that being hit by a girl could possibly hurt someone like him was quite obviously a foreign one.

"I justh...I don't get it, you know?" He scowled and shifted uneasily in his leather seat. "What the hell have I ever done to her?"

Owens merely stared at him in silence, the frown on his face mirroring Derek's own. _You're right about one thing,_ he thought, letting out an internal sigh. _You didn't do anything to her. _

_You did something to someone else._

He pitied Derek Indo and felt compassion for him on a level that was more fellow teenager to fellow teenager than adult to teenager. But he also knew that Derek was not the innocent victim. Boys like him never were.

Forcing himself to keep that fact in mind, Owens turned to Antonia. The facade of serenity she had upheld since being brought to his office was beginning to disappear. She was impatient and fidgety, tapping her fingertips against the thick arm of the leather chair. Her eyes were shadowed, unsettling, and the choppy bangs of her black hair acted as an umbrella that cast her expression into the dark.

_Proceed with caution,_ he warned himself, fixing a tentative smile on his lips. It was not returned. "Let's hear your side of the story, Antonia."

The small girl leaned forward, her wide eyes sparkling with emotion. He could see the white highlights against her pupils, shining through the shadow cast across her thin cheeks. "What he said? Yeah, it's all a load of _bull shit_," she said, slamming her fist against the desk top for emphasis.

Derek let out a soft hiss, his thick fingers digging into leather. His jaw worked as he attempted to say something, to interrupt in his own defense.

"Hey." Owens glared at him, silencing the senior before he could spit out a single word. "Remember what you agreed to earlier."

Derek fell moodily against the chair, his mouth snapping shut with an audible click.

Satisfied that he would keep his peace, Owens turned to Antonia once again, a single eyebrow raised. "Oh? Is that so?"

"You know it's so, Mr. Owens. Derek Indo wasn't just 'with his fwendths in the hallway'," Antonia continued, mocking Derek's broken nose-induced lisp; Derek's fists clenched and unclenched, resting against the arms of the leather chair. "He was beating the crap out of Zachary Rone for no reason that I could see. So I shoved Derek away from Zach and gave him a taste of his own medicine."

A ghost of a smile rose to her lips. "Mr. Indo doesn't take his medicine well."

Owens let out an internal moan, his smile faltering before disappearing completely. Zachary Rone was the definition of the word "geek". He had thick, square glasses, freckles scattered across his pale face, and blond-red hair that was constantly cork-screwed up in silly tufts. Although he didn't have braces or retainers of any kind, the lack of metalwork only helped his image slightly as, more often than not, his lips were pulled into a constant frown, hiding whatever nice smile he might have had. Despite the fact that he would never say so aloud, Owens didn't blame him either, for being so depressed. Considering the amount of humiliation handed to him every day, from immature insults to shoves and punches, he didn't have much of a reason to smile.

This situation is about to become messier than it already is. After wiping his hand down his face, feeling the cool, purple half-circles of exhaustion hanging heavily beneath his eyes as he did so, Owens turned back to Derek Indo.

"Derek." The senior glanced up, his eyes wide and hopeful. "I'd like you to go to the nurse's office. She'll do whatever she can for you, and then she'll most likely call up your father and send you both to the emergency room."

Before Derek could protest, Owens dealt him another glare. "Your nose is broken. You'll need it fixed if you plan on staying a football star." He pointed him in the direction of the office door. "Go."

Without another word, Derek shoved himself to his feet, pushed away from the stout leather chair and snatched his backpack up from where it lay in the corner. He slammed the door on his way out, causing the glass in the office windows to rattle. Owens winced, his ears ringing in the noisy aftershock. Antonia did not. She merely stared at him, her jaw slack.

"That's it? That's _all_?" she whispered in disbelief. "He doesn't get punished for what he did?"

"I can't punish him until I learn whether or not the story is true, Antonia," Owens replied slowly. He sensed Antonia's growing irritation the same way one could sense an approaching lightning storm, the air fizzling with electricity, setting one's hair on end. Instead of provoking that anger into full force, he decided to tread as carefully as possible. Not that his desperate treading would last very long. "I'll have to call Zach in, see what he has to say..."

"He won't say a word! He can't!" she protested, her voice beginning to rise. "If he says anything, anything at all, he'll just get the crap kicked out of him again! You know that!"

"Calm down!" he snapped. "You know that my hands are tied here! If Zach won't say anything, that's his own decision. He'll do what he feels is best. But I can't punish Derek if the victim won't even admit he's been beaten up. In fact, at this point," Owens locked gazes with her, "you're the only one I _can_ punish."

Antonia's cheeks reddened and her bottom lip began to tremble. "But - "

"But nothing!" he cried. A significant part of his brain, as well as his heart, truly did not want to punish Antonia. He knew without a doubt that Derek Indo had beaten up poor Zachary and had deserved a good, hard kick in the ass for doing so. But, as the principal, especially as the principal who had huge shoes to fill being so young, he had to do what was fair. Not what was right. What was fair.

What was fair was punishing Antonia.

"You broke Derek's nose, for God's sake! He should be practicing for football! He's got a scholarship he'll have to live up to come August! You may have just shot him down for the few months of practice that he really needs! Do you know how much that could hurt him?"

"Not as much as he hurt Zach," she replied, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest.

"Oh, get off of your high horse, Antonia!" Owens barked, feeling bitter with her, with Derek, but mostly with himself. The authority in him soured with the knowledge of what he had to do, of what he was saying and how incredibly far off of the mark he was. However, he didn't stop. Something inside of him just couldn't. On some level, he knew this was exactly what she needed to hear.

"You think you have these justifications for what you've done and you think that they're good enough to explain away kicking the crap out of someone, but they're not! Don't you understand? You're no better than Derek Indo because you hurt other people, Antonia. _You hurt other people_, that's what it comes down to, and even though you believe that you're mature enough to take situations such as these into your own hands, that you have what you feel to be good reasons for doing so, you don't! Even though you believe that you, _you_, have the authority to hurt someone else, you don't. You don't, just as Derek doesn't." He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "You're not _Superman_, Antonia! You don't have any obligations to save anyone else on your own, so you need to stop thinking that you do!"

Her responding silence unnerved him, and Owens began to grasp for words, for further explanation, in desperation. "You should have told someone, a teacher, a parent! You should have told _me_, I - "

"Teachers don't care, my mother's never around, my father's gone and you're too stupid to do anything about it!" she interrupted brutally, her eyes narrowed. She was out of her seat now, standing at her full height of five feet, and yet, somehow, she seemed so much bigger. "I couldn't tell anyone because no one would've done shit about it! Don't _you_ understand? No one cares!"

His eyes, which had been searching her expression in shock, suddenly gazed into her's. In them, both of them, was disgust strong enough to make him cringe.

"I'm sorry that you have these misconceptions about why I have done what I've done, why I did what I did and why I will continue to do what I do in the days to come, but I'm _not_ sorry that Derek got the kick in the ass he deserved, and I'm _not_ sorry that I'm trying to be human enough to save someone else when they're in trouble! And to be completely honest, Mr. Owens, your opinion of who I am and what I do are the ones that matter to me the _least!_ Do you want to know why?"

He stared at the tiny finger focused on his chest in accusation and swallowed hard.

She didn't wait for an answer. "You act as though the advice you've given me is correct! As though I should be listening to _you_ and what _you_ believe even though I'm willing to bet that you've never been in Zach's shoes before!

"If you're so smart, Mr. Owens, then tell me, who _is_ allowed to defend someone else if they're being attacked? Who, if not the people who witness it happen?"

Thin films of tears lay over Antonia's sparkling eyes like cataracts. Her shoulders, tight and narrow, were tense to the point that they trembled with the effort to stay tense. Her fists did as well. "_Who?_"

William Owens, his jaw quivering and slack with surprise, suddenly raised an arm. The pointer finger of his left hand was pinpointed on the door, and it trembled hard. "Get out."

Antonia didn't move.

His lips worked as he struggled to repeat himself. His face, pale and shiny with sweat, looked so juvenile that Antonia felt no immediate need to heed his words.

"Antonia Marez," he finally managed, his voice hoarse; only now did the authoritative tone sink in, but it sounded weak and meaningless, unearned. "You're suspended until further notice. I'll call your mother to come and pick you up, but for now...just...Just get _out_, Antonia. Get out."

She didn't scream, didn't topple his desk, didn't leap at him like a wild animal. Instead, a single tear slipped down her olive cheek, and she absently wiped it away as she hefted up her book bag and left his office. He watched her gently grip the door knob and close the door as carefully as she could behind her. A moment later, she was gone.

Letting out a shaky exhale, Owens stumbled and collapsed haphazardly into the wheeled office chair that had skittered off to the side of the room, rolling it back to his desk. He folded his arms across the desk top and rested his forehead against them, his face hidden from view.

_Who_ is _allowed_ _to defend someone else if they're being attacked?_ Antonia's question repeated itself, over and over, in his mind, as loud as the blare of a horn. _Who, if not the people who witness it happen?_

_Who?_

He stayed that way, pressed against his desk, for a long time.


	2. Chapter II

**Spitfire**

_Chapter II_

Her mother was getting The Glares again.

She got The Glares a lot, and to Antonia, they were always capitalized to emphasis the authority of those giving them. These Glares were given by a variety of people for a variety of reasons. Most often, however, the Glare-givers were women, and one of the reasons to Glare, with a capital _G_, was the fact that her mother, Pilar Marez, was a Mexican so close to the border. In their eyes, narrowed with distrust and dislike, Antonia could see the thoughts and emotions swimming like fish, like piranhas with small, pointed teeth: _You hopped the border. You don't belong here. You're illegal._

It didn't matter that Pilar's mother, her grandmother, had worked long, hard, and patiently to gain legal citizenship for herself and her family members. Even if Antonia had told these women as well as any other Glare-givers of this fact, they wouldn't have believed her. Or even if they did, it still wouldn't have mattered; there was another reason to Glare.

That reason was Pilar's obvious youth.

Antonia remembered that, before her father had left and between the bouts of fighting that had plagued her parents' marriage, there had been, however few and far between, good days when her father and mother loved each other with ease. It was on those days that her father, in his happiest of moods, would call her mother a nickname that suited her so well, a name Antonia had never forgotten even after their lives together had fallen apart. That name was Forever Seventeen. According to her father, her Mama seemingly hadn't aged in the slightest since then, a year before Antonia had been born. Even three years after her father had left, after that nickname had dropped into the broken silence of "before" with neither of them willing to mention it again, it still suited her Mama. She looked no older than twenty, and even that was stretching it.

Pilar was a young woman, a young Mexican woman, with a child Antonia's age: everything about her mother attracted unwanted attention. _She must be a whore,_ the eyes of those Glare-givers sneered, spat. _Slut, skank, reckless, easy, tool. No wonder Antonia's so angry, so confused, so violent. She was undoubtedly raised in a horrible environment._

After those piranha thoughts came the pity, which was somehow so much worse than anything else; that pity made her want to scream loud, long, and hard. She _hadn't_ been raised in a horrible environment. Her mother _wasn't_ a whore, an easy tool, an illegal immigrant. Antonia _wasn't_ some ill-conceived mistake, she _wasn't_ angry, and most of all, she _wasn't_ violent. Because of all the _wasn'ts_ and _hadn'ts_, there was no reason for that pity.

There was nothing wrong with her, nothing wrong with her mother, and nothing wrong with their life. There was nothing to pity. _Nothing._

_So__,_ Antonia thought to herself, her short legs swinging back and forth as she sat slumped in a metal-backed office chair, _these stupid secretaries with their stupid eyes can shove their stupid thoughts and their stupid pity right up their stupid -_

"Antonia, come. We're leaving now."

Pilar, her face a mask of exhaustion, disappointment, and machine-shop grime, her grease-spattered hand gripping Antonia's wrist, began to lead her out of the high school's main office.

"Say good bye to Mr. Owens and promise that this will not happen again," she instructed half-heartedly, giving the principal leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded purposefully across his chest, a weak smile.

Meanwhile, the secretaries Glared. Whispered. Waited.

After a moment of silence, Antonia smirked sweetly in Owens's direction. "Besa mi culo, cabrón." She added a small curtsy for good measure and proceeded to yank her arm from her mother's hold, hefting her backpack over one shoulder and heading toward the doorway. With Pilar scuttling close behind her, embarrassed beyond belief despite the fact that no one had the slightest clue as to what her daughter had said, Antonia made her grand exit, giving a final wave without even bothering to glance over her shoulder at Mr. Owens, who was looking both confused and suspicious. "Hasta luego, capullo!"

As the two young women left, the thick glass door swinging shut behind them, Mr. Owens blinked once, slowly, before glancing at the secretaries. They were staring at him in confusion, as though he understood what Antonia had said and would explain it to them if they observed him long enough.

He blinked again, frozen beneath their squint-eyed gazes. He thought of excusing himself properly, and, instead, let out a breathless, exhausted cackle for no reason he could understand. Without giving a single word of explanation to his secretaries, he took a deep breath, turned on one loafer heel and escaped back into his office.

The door let out a soft click as it locked behind him.

* * *

"Antonia, what is wrong with you?" Pilar hissed, gripping her daughter by her shoulders and giving her a rough shake. They were just outside of Mission City High's main office and stuck out like sore thumbs amongst the huge river of students heading home for the day. Some glanced over at the odd pair and, upon seeing the dirty-gray grease that covered Pilar's face, hands, arms and baggy overalls, they grinned mockingly. As their giggles and whispers reached Antonia's ears, she fought back the monstrous fury and ugly insults that wished to propel out of her; she bit her lip against them, forcing them back down like bile.

Meanwhile, her mother continued to question her. "What is wrong with you? Answer me!"

"There is nothing wrong with me, Mama! It's that man and his - "

"No, Antonia. _No__._ It's not anyone but you! It can't be anyone but you! This is your second suspension of your sophomore year! I can no longer remember how many times you've visited the principal's office...How many detentions you have earned..." Pilar's hands suddenly dropped from Antonia's shoulders. She hugged herself as she turned away from her daughter, heading back toward the parking lot. Antonia hefted her backpack to a more comfortable position and proceeded to knead her way through the throng of bodies, following her mother as quickly as she could.

As soon as they reached the gum-spattered pavement of the lot, alone but for the two of them, Pilar swerved on Antonia once again, her dark eyes shimmering with distraught, confused tears. She cupped her daughter's head between her worn hands, her expression that of desperate love, so different from the one of tired disappointment that had shadowed her face only seconds before that Antonia was momentarily caught by surprise.

"Why do you hurt so many, _hija_? Why do you act with your fists and your insults, your attitude, instead of your words and your ears? Is there something deeper that I am missing? Is there something that you want me to notice about you?"

"_Mama_ - "

"Do you need some sort of help? Is there something wrong up here that makes you act this way?" Her trembling thumb brushed against Antonia's smooth forehead, and Antonia's eyes widened with embarrassed, frightened realization.

One thought flashed on and off in her mind, as bright and as ugly as a neon sign: _My mother thinks I am mentally unstable. That I'm mentally ill._

Even louder than this thought, more prominent, so much bigger: _THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME._

"Mama, how could you even - !"

"Is all this violence a cry for attention? Do you feel you have no control over yourself, or that you need some sort of help? Are you..." She struggled with the right word, the right disorder. "..._Bipolar_? Are you bipolar, Antonia? Is it something else? Whatever it is, whatever you need, we will get for you. I will work harder and longer to earn more money for treatments, if they help you get well. Whatever you need, Antonia, I promise that I will do whatever it takes to - "

"Mama, listen to me!" Antonia cried, gripping her mother's forearms and wrenching herself away from her touch. "There is nothing wrong with me! I am a good girl, I swear!" Her breath whistled between her dry lips as sobs threatened to hitch and choke her voice, but she forced herself to continue. "I do not fight for me, never for me. Always for someone else, for someone who cannot stand up for themselves. I help, I do - "

"You do not help!" Pilar interrupted, the tears that had been nothing more than shimmers now thin, weak rivers running down her cheeks like clear veins. "Not help! You hurt! You use your hands and you hurt! You use your insults and you hurt! You use your attitude and you hurt! This is not normal, Antonia! This is not _'helping'_!" Pilar let out a soft snuffle and dropped her fingers from Antonia's cheek to brush at the choppy locks of her daughter's hair. "You must use words. You must use words, and understanding, and listening if you are to help anyone."

"None of those things work!"

"Yes, they do! They do! Give them a chance, _mi corazón__._ Calm. You must be calm, and you must use words. You must, or one day, you are going to earn much more than a suspension." There was unmistakable fear in her dark, wide eyes as she let out a tremble of a sigh. "Please, Antonia...No more hurting, no more pain, no more violence. No more. Okay? Please. No more."

_No more._

Suddenly, Antonia wanted nothing more than to do the exact opposite, wanted nothing more than _to_ hurt. The humility of the idea that there was something mentally wrong with her, the horror that her mother suggested she take medication or visit a doctor, the sinking feeling, the hopelessness, that there might truly be something horribly out of place within her mind that was causing her to become violent, and the irritation she felt that her mother couldn't, _wouldn't_, understand...All of it built up, and finally, it crashed down.

Antonia clenched her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, tightened her fists. Words did absolutely nothing. Pilar should know that better than anyone else, and yet she still clung to the silly idea that understanding, that listening, that words and explanation could solve every obstacle, every obstruction. She should know better than to depend on words.

She should know better because of Eliazar.

The venom was out of her mouth before she could be bothered to stop it.

"Mama, did your words, your explanation, mean anything at all to Daddy when he was too angry to understand the meaning of the word _Stop_? Did they fade the bruises, Mama? Did your _words_ fade the bruises?" Even as Pilar's cheeks paled, her eyes widening with shock, Antonia leaned forward, closer. The tips of their noses nearly brushed. "Words mean _nothing__!_ They do _nothing__!_ If you had known that earlier, you could've helped yourself! You could've stopped him; you could've stood up for us both! Instead, you were weak! Instead, you used words, and look at what they got you!

"He's gone, Mama, and he left his mark!"

In the second that it took for the full impact of Antonia's words to sink in, Pilar shattered; it was the only suitable way to describe her reaction. Her eyes, dark and wide, flooded with tears, and the weak rivers that lined her cheeks became thicker, stronger. Her lips, their corners smudged with grease and grime, twisted into a pain-filled smile and began to tremble. She raised one thin hand to that agonized grin and bit her knuckle like a child. After staring at Antonia for a moment, her gaze searching her expression for something she was unable to find, Pilar turned, shoulders hunched, and stumbled forward toward the car.

Watching her mother shuffle away, Antonia's heart hitched painfully into her throat.

"Words mean nothing," she repeated, her voice hoarse. "You should know that better than anyone else."

Pilar didn't respond, her silence speaking volumes, and whatever pleasure she thought she would get from her mother's pain, from proving her wrong, disappeared, ceased to exist, in a single heart beat. Perhaps it had never been there at all, just a mirage of an emotion, a ghost.

Instead, in its place, a throbbing poison in the undercurrents of her mind and her heart, was one thought: _There is nothing wrong with me._

_

* * *

_

The silence inside of the car was so intense that the knock on the back window seemed too loud.

Pilar hadn't spoken a word since Antonia had climbed into the passenger seat beside her. Instead, her dark eyes had stayed locked on the road before her and her mouth had stayed shut. She didn't have a response for Antonia, or one that she thought her daughter would understand at her current age, and she certainly didn't want to say anything that would spark that painful, biting rage again. At the moment, Pilar didn't think she could handle another outburst. She'd most likely just collapse into desperate sobs.

Antonia was at a loss herself. She couldn't think of the right words that would clearly explain how sorry she was. Even if she did, she didn't believe her mother would care. Pilar would nod and accept it, but it would still hurt. The pain of what she, her _daughter_, had spouted off would still be there.

Every other moment or so, as their old Jeep Cherokee bumbled along at a snail's pace amidst the slow traffic of after-school escape, an idea of what to say would suddenly float into Antonia's mind like a helium-filled balloon. Yet, after she carefully picked apart that balloon, looking at it from all angles, searching each side, she'd find it unsuitable and with regret, she'd pop it. With each dead balloon of an idea puddling the floor her mind, the despair would grow.

Every time she had said or done something wrong to her mother in the past, _I'm sorry _would always cover it. Those two words would make everything better, no matter what had been said or done. Only now did Antonia realize that that had been like slapping a band aid on a wound that required stitches, medication, and time to heal. The truth was that talk was cheap. _I'm sorry _could be said anytime, anywhere, for anything. It didn't have to mean that one was truly sorry. It didn't have to mean that at all.

In this case, _I'm sorry_ wasn't going to cover it.

The moment that realization hit home, the soft tap at the window behind her dragged her reluctantly from her thoughts and back to the reality.

"Who's that?" Pilar asked, though she did not sound particularly curious. Her aching eyes followed a pair of legs as they walked up to the passenger side of the car. This wasn't hard to do, as the car wasn't moving; the traffic had placed it at a standstill at the front of the steps that led up to the school's front hallway and main office.

As soon as the mysterious pair of legs reached her window, Antonia had a feeling as to who it was. He bent before she was able to roll the window down completely, and by then, she was positive.

"Hey Zach."

He nodded his response, his lips neither turned up in a smile nor twisted into his usual frown. The corkscrews of his red hair bounced against his forehead as he did so, soft etchings of cuts crisscrossing the pale skin. They were new, that was obvious enough, but were cleaned up and medicated.

His biggest and most noticeable wound was his left eye, purpled and ringed with a large bruise. The lids had swelled shut and the pain was bad enough that Zachary would rather walk around near-blind than attempt to fix his glasses over the puffy bump.

Out of the corner of her eye, Antonia saw Pilar wince against the steering wheel.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Zach said quietly. Surprisingly, he presented Antonia with a tiny cut of a smile, and she realized with pleasure that this was one of the moments that he allowed himself to be handsome. If he smiled more often, perhaps the short-skirted blonds who currently avoided him like the plague would look at him in a new light.

"You're welcome," she replied, returning his smile with one of her own, her pleasure growing as his grin widened a few notches. Seconds later, however, his face returned to its original blank slate, and he nodded once more before standing back up. He shifted his backpack to a comfortable position on his shoulders and quickly retreated into the throng of students still buzzing around the school yard.

Just as he disappeared from her view, the traffic let up and their Jeep began to roll along at an amiable pace, finally turning the corner out of the parking lot and bumbling onto the street.

Only then did her mother spare her a sideways glance. "Who was that?"

Antonia knew that she had an idea as to who it was despite their small exchange. For some odd reason, however, she was unable to define Zach.

After a moment of consideration, Antonia shrugged. "A friend of mine."

Pilar accepted this in silence.

* * *

"I think I'm going to nap for a bit, Antonia," her mother said softly, closing the front door carefully behind her. Filtered afternoon light shone through the flimsy, white curtains that shrouded the only window of their narrow front hallway, casting rectangles across the wooden floorboards; it set both herself and her mother in the sepia tone of an old photograph. For some reason, it made Antonia's mood worse. She felt weepy, the same way the distant cry of seagulls or an abandoned strip of beach made her feel.

"All right, Mama," she replied, her voice just as soft. It seemed odd, almost wrong, to break the diffused silence of their apartment. "...Hey?"

Pilar, who had turned her back to Antonia and was attempting to extricate herself from the baggie, dirtied overalls she wore to work at Mission City Mechanics, glanced over her shoulder. "Hm?"

_I'm sorry!_ she wanted to cry, grabbing her mother in a tight hug. _I'm sorry for what I've done! I'm sorry for the suspensions, the detentions, for forcing you to miss days of work and hours of pay to pick me up after I've gotten into trouble! I'm sorry for using my fists instead of my words! I'm sorry for losing control of myself! I'm sorry that there might be something wrong with me! I'm sorry for what I've said and done, both today and every day before today! I'm sorry Daddy left and I'm sorry you married him in the first place! I'm sorry I haven't been a better daughter!_

_I'm sorry that 'I'm sorry' isn't enough._

Instead, Antonia's bottom lip trembled as she groped for and then asked the first question that came to mind. "Am I grounded?"

Pilar turned and gave her a tired smile. In the gentle light of the afternoon, Antonia could see the tears in her mother's dark eyes, shimmering like gems.

"Would it do any good, _hija_?" she murmured, one droplet beginning its descent down her left cheek, cutting through the grime and dust of a job she didn't get paid a fair amount for but one she thoroughly enjoyed, one she was surprisingly good at. "Would it do any good to ground you?"

As her mother stepped down the hallway, her black overalls slung over one arm, Antonia let herself collapse, pressing her back against the wall beneath the smudged glass of the small window. Her choppy hair brushed against the worn wood as she slipped down and hit the floor with a soft thump.

She hugged herself, her arms wrapped around her legs, and sat there, listening to her mother sing something in quiet Spanish as she showered in the bathroom down the hallway. As she listened, she didn't think, she didn't move, she hardly even seemed to breathe, her head tucked against her forearms and her expression hidden.

Long after Pilar finished bathing, long after she'd fallen asleep, Antonia still sat beneath the window. She stayed that way, collapsed in on herself, even as the afternoon light faded to the purple whisper of dusk, and even as dusk slipped into night.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_

**Spanish Dictionary:**

- _Besa mi culo, carbon_ - Kiss my ass, bastard.

- _Hasta luego, capullo_ - See you later, asshole.

- _Hija_ - Daughter.

- _Mi corazón_ - My heart.

Thank you Misao-CG for the Spanish translations! They are very much appreciated! =)


	3. Chapter III

**Spitfire**

_Chapter III_

"Mama."

The word, even when spoken in nothing more than a whisper, seemed too loud for the small bedroom. It reverberated in a receding rhythm against the worn, wooden walls, and for an embarrassing moment, Antonia thought her mother would awaken; Pilar shifted in her sleep, her arms spreading as she pushed herself over and onto her back, fighting the thin sheets for a more comfortable position. However, she didn't open her eyes, her breathing didn't skip a beat, and gradually Antonia relaxed. The last thing she wanted was for Pilar to wake up with her standing at the bed's edge like a sentry. If she had, what would she have said? How would she explain her presence there after she and her mother had made it clear that they weren't on speaking terms?

What both she and Pilar needed the most at the moment was space, at least for a little while. Yet, Antonia couldn't stop thinking about her, about what she'd said to her mother and how out of line it was to use her father and his behavior as a way to hurt her.

Her father, Pilar's ex-husband Eliazar, was rarely mentioned. In fact, since he'd left three years before, they hadn't spoken of him once. Perhaps _that_, their refusal to mention him, was the reason as to why Pilar had reacted the way she had. She wasn't expecting to be thrown such a curve ball, an insult revolving around the man who had dropped out of their lives as quickly as if he had fallen from a cliff.

_Maybe we should speak of him more often,_ Antonia thought to herself as she brushed a few stray locks of black hair from her mother's shadowed cheeks. In her sleep, Pilar sighed. _Maybe then I would understand more of him and what had happened between them. I knew mentioning him would hurt her, but I didn't know it would cause such a reaction..._

Her anger unexpectedly returned, sparking within her as easily as if someone had struck a match. _If she bothered explaining to me how everything fell apart, then I wouldn't have said anything! Because I would've known better! I would have!_

Something within her argued that that wasn't entirely true.

She would've known better, but the knowledge of what had occurred between her parents would not have stopped he; when she immersed herself in her fury, _nothing_ could stop her. She was a force to be reckoned with, one that didn't give a damn about giving a damn.

_No,_ she reasoned, her shoulders drooping. _It wouldn't have stopped me. Nothing would have._

Her anger gone as quickly as it had arrived, Antonia knuckled at her tearing eyes, feeling more like a child than a teenager. Not for the first time, she desperately wished that there was some sort of rewind button that she could slip out of her pocket and press, skipping back to an earlier hour. Or even a deletion button that would rid the reel of her life of that horrible scene when she had made her mother cry.

The problem was _bigger_ than that, though. Her current situation didn't rest entirely on this specific event of verbally attacking her mother. This was merely the turning point. Every other incident of causing Pilar some sort of emotional pain, all of those empty cries for forgiveness, were coming back to weigh upon her shoulders. Antonia knew that this was bound to happen: the day, the hour, the minute, her mother gave up on her. That moment had already passed, and attached to it was the worst feeling in the world. Hopelessness. The fact that she'd been given up on, let go, after a long and bloody battle. Pilar had tried her best and somehow it hadn't been enough, so she had hauled up the white flag of surrender. Even though Antonia had known that Pilar was, at some point, going to break down, she had forced herself to believe that it couldn't happen, that she couldn't push her mother so close to the edge of letting her go, let alone push her off that edge. Yet...it had happened. She felt it.

Desperate sobs began to hitch in her chest, to bubble up her throat. A low moan was all that escaped her as she swallowed them down, however, watching with wide eyes as Pilar's eyebrows narrowed. She mumbled something unintelligible in a sleep-raspy voice, her arms beginning to fight the constrictions of her sheets once again.

_Please don't wake up,_ Antonia thought fretfully, pressing a fist against her lips as she stumbled backward toward Pilar's bedroom door. With one hand busily keeping those hoarse cries inside of her and the other groping desperately for the door's knob, Antonia maneuvered herself safely away from Pilar before she could no longer hold herself back.

Her heart thumping heavily, she closed the bedroom door behind her.

The aggravated creases in Pilar's face smoothed themselves out. Sleep dragged her away before consciousness could do the same.

* * *

_Breath, Antonia._

The night air smelled, tasted, and felt so good against the warmth of her throat, the uncomfortable hitch of her lungs, the painful ache of her heart.

Standing on the stone steps of the apartment's small porch, her olive face turned up to the dark sky, she immediately felt better. The desert, however hot in the day, was always sweet and cool by night; a soft whisper of wind blew past her, tickling her cheeks with locks of her choppy hair and extinguishing the uncomfortable curtain of sweat that had enveloped itself over her body.

After another slow, deep breath, her dark eyes opened to half-slits, for once patient and observing. Up above, the silhouetted roofs of surrounding apartments and buildings cut out square sections against the back drop of black sky. Stars littered that back drop, shiny, cold and bright, diamond chips.

_Just a short walk, to think, to calm down,_ she thought to herself, hopping from the stone steps to the cement sidewalk, absently slipping her hands into the pockets of her caprees as soon as her shoe soles slapped the ground. _It's not so late. __Only eight or so. Mama's asleep, so it's all right, she won't care. She won't even know I'm gone._

_Besides, it's not as though I have school tomorrow,_ she remembered with grim amusement. _I'm suspended until 'further notice'._

She smiled weakly as she walked down the sidewalk, every so often slipping beneath the orb of light that the street lamps, crowded with moths, created against the pavement. Once or twice, she passed other pedestrians, workers running late and attempting to get home before they were missed. Other than that, it appeared as though she had Mission City to herself. Even traffic seemed to be only at a trickle.

Turing the corner, Antonia stepped onto Main Street and passed a number of small shops and businesses, most of them closed for the evening. A few, however, still had their lights switched on, specifically the flashing neon mess that was The Crater, a "bar" specifically aimed at the high-schoolers of Mission City. Despite the facts that it didn't serve alcohol, was more or less a dump, and was immensely dark save for the neons that were hooked up helter-skelter outside, it played good music and the soft drinks were cheap, which was enough to keep teens coming back for more. Even on school nights it was alive and kicking; as Antonia walked past Mission City Public Library, right across the street from The Crater, she could see the shadowed figures of bodies dancing, huddled together in groups, and seated around the dry bar.

What snagged her attention almost immediately, however, were the three silhouettes sitting in the front window booth. They seemed familiar. The middle one especially, with his shaft of light hair, his bulky figure. His varsity jacket.

She tensed, her fingers curling into her palms. _Hey -!_

"Antonia! Hey, Antonia! Wait up!"

The moment of recognition slipping from her mind as quickly as it had appeared, Antonia glanced over her shoulder, her eyes searching for who had called her name. "Huh?"

Blinking with surprise, she stopped to wait for Zachary Rone as he bounded down the steps of the Mission City Public Library and ran to meet her.

* * *

"Derek, leave her alone," Richie muttered, chugging the last of his Mountain Dew before crushing the aluminum can absently beneath his thick palm. His gaze drifted to Antonia Marez's tiny figure, just across the street outside, and he smiled mockingly. "If she kicked the crap out of you the first time you butted heads, what the hell makes you think this time will be any different?"

Derek's hands fisted with irritation and humiliation as he swerved in his seat to glare at Richie Whyler, sitting beside him in a slumped, bored position. The two boys had been friends since high school had begun, but it was more out of luck than out of relation to each other that they had stayed friends; one of the few connections the two had between them was the fact that they both played foot ball, and it was perhaps the only string holding them together at this point.

As he glared, loud voices and the throbbing beat of The Crater's radioed music collided disruptively in the background. He felt a headache creeping on, one not entirely born of the pounding bass.

"Ith going to be different becauth I'll usth my car this time, you assth," he sputtered irritably.

Tyler Eller, one of Mission City High's Linebackers, glanced up from the knot he'd been absently tying in his straw's paper wrapper, his eyes wide with shock. "Dude, you can't run her over. That's fucking insane!"

Derek scowled, his lips twitching into a snarl. Tyler could be such a moron sometimes, all brawn and no brain. "I'm not going to 'run her over', retard. I'm justh...going to scare her. Thath all."

There was silence as Richie and Tyler exchanged a glance, their eyes meeting over the table top. Tyler's reflected concern and reluctance; Richie's, empty curiosity and boredom. They both registered the birthing of the bad idea but neither truly accepted it. While Tyler was emotionally incapable of doing so, Richie had absolutely nothing better to do than what Derek had suggested.

After a moment, Richie shrugged, caving in. "Whatever. Are we going or not?"

Derek smiled grimly, revealing his chipped front tooth, and nodded once. "Leth go. I can't wait to get back at that bitch." He stood and began to edge out of the window booth's smooth seat, Richie following close behind.

Sighing, Tyler bit his bottom lip and trudged along behind them, his shoulders slumped with unease and discomfort. He stared hard at Derek and Richie, both of whom were shoving their way through the dancers and loitering groups of teenagers, heading toward The Crater's back door. A goofy, nervous smile appeared on his handsome face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Just scaring her, right Derek...? That's it?"

When Derek didn't answer, merely glanced over his shoulder and smiled wolfishly at him, his chipped tooth glittering in the darkness, Tyler shivered.

_Antonia Marez,_ he thought to himself, wincing under Derek's furious, excited gaze, _I hope you can outrun a car._


	4. Chapter IV

**Spitfire**

_Chapter IV_

"Thanks for waiting for me."

"No problem," Antonia replied absently, observing Zach as he shifted the bulk of his backpack to a more comfortable position. His bruised eye, despite the fact that it was not as noticeable in the dark, didn't appear to look any better than it had before; it still puffed out painfully, a bluish orb throbbing against his cheek. The light, white scratches that Derek Indo's rugged knuckles and rounded fingernails had slashed across his temple, forehead, and freckle-spattered cheeks were vivid in the growing twilight surrounding Mission City Public Library.

He gave her a tight smile when he lifted his head and noticed her eyes locked on his wounds. "They don't hurt as much as they did earlier," he said softly, gently brushing the tips of his fingers against his scratched left cheek. "Indo would've done much worse to me if you hadn't come along."

Antiona didn't answer. Instead, she shrugged, feeling oddly uncomfortable. A connection between Zach's wounds and what she had noticed moments earlier in The Crater formed solidly in her mind; she just didn't know what that connection was. But as she walked down the sidewalk, Zach following along amiably beside her, the foggy realization that she had seen someone she should have immediately recognized began to nag at her.

Across the street, the back door of The Crater opened, its rusted hinges squealing loudly. Voices whispered together in the alleyway behind the dry bar and three shadows, thrown against the brick wall of the opposite building, danced as they made their way through the urban rubble littering the floor of the alley, then disappeared. The door moaned low and long as it shut, the lock clicking audibly in the sudden silence that had befallen Main Street like a shroud.

The whispering had stopped.

Antonia swallowed hard. Her feet twitched in her shoes as she ached to run off, and yet, she remained at the slow, companionable pace that she was at, Zachary's sneaker's slapping along in time with her's. He didn't seem to mind the silence. He didn't even seem to notice the soft footsteps echoing behind The Crater as those three figures, whoever they were, escaped into the back parking lot. In fact, his ignorance of the entire situation made her feel as though she was literally jumping at shadows.

However, even as she and Zachary passed The Crater and its partying occupants completely and turned the corner, her shoulders wouldn't loosen, her eyes felt as though they were bugging out of their sockets, her breathing quickened.

Zach's unexpected question, his voice tinged with worry, nearly caused her to scream with frightened surprise: "Antonia, are you all right?"

Around the corner, behind The Crater and in its dark, dank alleyway, a car started up. She shivered. _No, I am not all right._

"I'm fine," she replied, giving him a false smile that felt dry to her trembling lips. She wet them as she wracked her mind for something to say, and she sputtered out the first question she could think of.

"W-what were you doing at the library so late?"

He gave her an odd look when she stuttered, a look of embarrassment, of pain, of suspicion. It was gone before she could comprehend it completely, and he glanced down at his hands. It was as though he didn't trust his facial expressions anymore.

"I was doing my homework," he responded quietly. "I don't like doing it at home."

For a moment, her fear disappeared, replaced with tentative curiosity. "How come?"

He rubbed the back of his head with his right hand, and something around his wrist flashed in the flickering light of a nearby street lamp; Antonia noted that it was a Rolex, gleaming and golden.

"...'Cause no one's ever there," he answered after a few seconds of silent deliberation. The hint of sadness was obvious, and yet, like the odd look he had given her, it was gone as quickly as she had detected it.

In its place bubbled sudden, unexpected, genuine excitement. "Look, Antonia!"

She glanced up, but she didn't see what he was pointing at. Coming to a sudden, jerky stop, she watched as a pair of headlights quickly made its way down Main Street, reflected off of the brick walls of the dark buildings in front of them.

Just as before, Zach was unaware. "It's Center Street," he murmured, his single, unwounded eye wide with delight. "I can't believe that place still hasn't been re-opened..."

The pair of headlights swerved around the corner, alighting their backs, and its engine revved, once, twice, three times; it sounded hungry, bestial. Antonia glanced over her shoulder, shielding her eyes as best as she could from the glare.

She could see the white oval that was his face, his shaft of blond hair, his angry eyes glaring at her from behind the steering wheel.

_Oh my God. It's Derek._

"...after the Transformers' fight." Zach smiled at her, that cute cut of a grin he had perfected specifically for those he deemed deserved it. "Maybe we can get a closer look, huh? I know it's guarded, and there's a fence and all, but..."

The car's revving engine swallowed the end of his sentence in its roar, and he turned around, his eye no longer wide with excitement but with fright.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his body become taut, his lean muscles tensing.

The tires squealed, and Derek's car charged toward them, its speed building quickly. Antonia could see the glint as Derek's white teeth, marred only by a small chip, bared themselves in a wolfish grin.

Zachary's backpack thumped against the concrete as it slid from his shoulder.

"He's going to run us down," he stated absently.

One second passed, and they both continued to stare, identical expressions of numb realization on their faces. Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Antonia's mouth began to form a gaping, jaw-cracking O as it voiced a desperate scream: _"Oh my _God _-"_

She hardly felt Zach's hand tighten around her wrist. She was too busy staring at the approaching headlights, counting off the seconds until Derek mowed her over as though she was a trembling doe awaiting the painless death of an eighteen wheeler.

She did, however, hear his command, cutting off her scream before it even began.

"RUN, ANTONIA!" he cried, yanking her toward him as his legs streamed forward. "RUN!"

* * *

"Just going to scare her," Derek whispered, his knuckles white and trembling as he gripped the steering wheel. One sneakered foot was pressed against the gas pedal, the other lightly brushing the brake. "Going to teach her that it doesn't matter if thee's a chick. I'm going to fight back. Going to - "

"Derek," Richie interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up apprehensively. Zach and Antonia were at all full-out sprint, trying to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the speeding car. Despite the fact that Derek's shoe-tip touched the brake, he didn't give any hint of slowing down. Merely pressing the brake at the last second wouldn't be enough; they'd skid, they'd hit Antonia and Zach, and then they'd all go crashing through the mesh-wire fence that protected Center Street from trespassers, right into the Transformers site.

Richie knew this. Derek, apparently, did not.

"Derek, man, you have to slow down, you're going to - "

_"I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I'M DOING SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!" _he roared, spittle flying from his trembling, snarling lips, his eyes narrowed as he turned to glare at Richie. "That bitch ith going to - "

"PRESS THE GODDAMN BRAKE, DEREK! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL THEM! PRESS IT NOW!" Tyler wailed from the back, scaring both Richie and Derek into a jump as his muscled arms reached around the driver's seat in a desperate attempt to shove the brake pedal down himself. With Derek's eyes temporarily averted from the road, he had failed to notice that Antonia and Zach were trapped, their fingers gripping the mesh wire of the Center Street fence and their expressions ovals of contorted terror.

Five more seconds, and they were all going to tumble into the crater where Sam Witwicky, months ago, had ended Megatron's life with the power of the All Spark.

Richie let out a hoarse scream. His heart was choking up his throat, and all he could hear, all he could taste, was its frantic beat and its ugly adrenaline.

"PRESS THE BRAKE, YOU BASTARD!" he shrieked, his arms flailing. "PRESS IT BEFORE WE HIT THEM! PRESS IT, PRESS IT, _PRESS IT!"_

"NOT _YET_!" Derek bawled, beginning to smack at the Tyler's pale face with one tightened fist, trying to keep him away. "NOT YE - "

Suddenly, Tyler was shoved forward as the car rocked over a pothole in the street. He landed in Derek's lap before tumbling into the space beneath the wheel. One elbow jerked between Derek's legs, causing him to screech with pain, and the other tangled itself through the wheel. The car's tires squealed against the pavement as it began to fishtail.

Derek's feet tore themselves out from under Tyler's impressive weight as he doubled over in his seat with agony, and all of the muscle Tyler had worked up over the football season only pressed the gas pedal down harder. His arm, still entangled in the wheel, jerked and wriggled as he tried to free himself, his legs kicking up and down in the car's cab.

_It's all over,_ Tyler thought, his head pounding with panic. _We're going to kill them. We're going to die._

Richie screaming with horror, Derek with pain, and Tyler with a combination of both, they all closed their eyes.

Outside, a single second before impact, Zachary wrapped his arms around Antonia, pulled her close, and waited for the car's swerving, fish-tailing bumper to end them both.


	5. Chapter V

**Spitfire**

_Chapter V_

There was a moment when he believed, truly believed, that his life, their lives, were going to end.

His eyes closed against the rancid street dust blown up into fitful clouds, his ears aching and echoing with the wail of wounded tires shrieking across the pavement, there was not a doubt in his mind that the five of them, himself, Antonia, Derek, and whatever goons had tagged along, would die, ironically together, in the next ten seconds. Such an undeniable, unshakable thought had never entered his mind until the moment it no longer mattered. Its ultimate realization took a huge, painful chomp out of his sanity, and it was into the fluttering locks of Antonia's hair that he howled.

With his arms latched around Antonia's waist, his fingertips digging into her hips and hers tightened into fistfuls of his shirt, their heads tucked together in an embrace born not of passion and desire but of the simple, human desperation to hold onto someone when the end finally arrives, he waited.

Neither he nor Antonia saw how closely they brushed against Death's cloak.

The car, a rusted Sedan that had been presented to the ungrateful Derek Indo by his parents as his first true mode of transportation, finished its circling fishtail, its silver bumper glittering in the florescent light thrown by nearby street lamps. The bumper's edge slipped past the fluttering tail of Antonia's shirt, grazing the goose bump-speckled flesh of her back before swerving off to the side. In its passing, it clipped her hip bone and would've crushed every finger of Zachary's right hand had he placed it a few inches lower.

The Sedan's unexpected spin was cut short by the thick wire of the mesh fence that protected Main Street from trespassers, and more than half of the rust bucket car balanced on the edge of the crater. There it swayed for more than five seconds, and in those five seconds, Zachary Rone opened his tearing eyes, the hair on the back of his neck straight and stiff. Only a few feet from where he stood, he could hear the diffused, pained screaming of the Sedan's occupants, whose shadowed bodies tumbled, twitched and fought over one another. Bulky boy fingers appeared unexpectedly at the window's ledge, clawing in desperation at the passenger door as they attempted to find the lock that trapped them inside, and Zach winced away in both surprise and horror. Then he let out a hoarse gasp, yanking both himself and Antonia away from the teetering car and back against what remained of the mesh fence, as the diffused shrieks of the Sedan's prisoners heightened and the swaying car suddenly tumbled into the pit. There was a moment of silence as it dropped through the air, a space of fifteen feet or so separating the crater's edge from its gravel-littered bottom, before it crashed, nose-first, and somersaulted, tipping over its ruined nose and landing on its roof. It slid a few more meters down the embankment and finally came to a silent, smoking rest.

The Sedan's ruined engine clicked as it died.

His breath coming in whistling gasp and his knees trembling, Zach straightened up. _Oh God,_ he thought, his tearing eyes never leaving the battered Sedan. He took a step back, unconsciously pulling Antonia along with him, and pressed against the fence. _That was close, so close, _too_ close -_

His frightened thoughts were cut short as the rest of the mesh fence gave way, collapsing backward into the pit. Antonia's and his own combined weight too much for it to handle after being ripped open by the speeding car, there was an ear-piercing screech as a huge section of it tore away from the rest, bowing and dipping into the empty space of the crater before giving in completely. Zachary felt the air rush from his lungs as he fought for purchase on the broken ground of the pit's edge, his hands and arms leaving Antonia to pinwheel and twitch. With her arms still locked around his waist, his own fluttering like broken bird's wings, the two fell after the mesh fence and into the pit.

He landed with a jerk against the sliding, squealing section of fence, the mesh ripping and bouncing over huge blocks of jagged pavement and clods of dirt as it roared down the embankment. Broken edges poked through the mesh and tore at him, snagging his shirt and scratching at his exposed back and neck. He could feel the blood spatter against his skin, the burning, searing pain as muck and dust coated his fresh cuts, contaminating them.

Antonia was no longer against him. She had flown off to the side, and he could hear her bouncing along beside him a few feet away. He was about to shout out her name when the fence suddenly slid upward, ricocheting off a rocky slab of snapped pavement like a child's sled over a mound of snow, and he shot off of the section of mesh, tumbling head over heels before landing against the pit's bottom on his shoulder. There was an audible crack as a bone snapped, and his mind and vision went silent white with agony. His ears filled with a high-pitched whine as his thoughts threatened to slip into oblivion in a desperate attempt to escape the fiery pain that consumed his shoulder; he slid for another ten seconds, tumbling and vaulting over the ruined pieces of pavement, before smacking against the pit's opposite end.

Breathing in short, pained rasps, his sight blinking on and off like a broken bulb, he would have blacked out if Antonia hadn't screamed.

It wasn't so much of a scream as it was a shriek, one so horribly contorted that he didn't think that vocal cords, even a woman's, could handle such a high, agonized note. It jarred him into consciousness, and Zach forced his eyes open, carefully brushing at the street grime that coated his bloodied face like war paint. He then rolled himself over onto his stomach, trying to ignore the throbbing mass of his ruined arm long enough to push into a standing position, but he was only able to manage a hunch.

Her name was a gasp: "Antonia." He carefully tip-toed his way through the slabs of broken pavement toward the place where her scream had originated from, his unbroken arm cupping the elbow of the other, his scratched, bleeding back bent over, his face and neck dripping red sweat.

_Something horrible must have happened to her,_ he thought, a whimper escaping him. _Something horrible, bloody, and broken._

After taking an enormous step over a hunk of burned, twisted metal that vaguely resembled the head of a street lamp, he finally collapsed beside Antonia's limp form, his teeth clicking together and nearly snapping off the tip of his tongue as his bruised knees hit the ground. As he searched for and found her form in the growing darkness, his ruined eye, despite its irritated throbbing and twitching, forced open in utter surprise.

Antonia hadn't flown off of the mesh fence as he had. Instead, she'd gripped the metal wiring with her fingers and had ridden it the rest of the way down the embankment. She'd still been latched onto it as it slid and bumped its way into the very center of the pit, coming to a stop only when its edge smacked against a huge section of an unfortunate building that had collapsed into the pit in that months-ago battle. She had stopped with it, and opening her eyes, she'd wanted to cry.

Never had she so badly wanted to cry.

Most of the nails on her fingers were gone, ripped away by shards of rock. Her left hip was bruised and bleeding from its clip with Derek's bumper. Her legs, stomach, chest and neck ached from her wild ride down the pit's side.

But she was alive, and in one piece.

With this thought trumpeting victoriously in her mind, she'd crawled off of the section of mesh fencing and onto the pit's rocky bottom, where she turned onto her back to give her battered stomach a rest. She'd never had the slightest idea of where, exactly, she had landed. She didn't know the significance of it, nor would she have ever given it a second thought.

The moment her back had touched the ground, the pain had been sudden and incomprehensible.

Something had flown at her, whistling through the air like a bullet, attracted to her aching body. More soon followed, and when they hit her, they didn't bounce off. Instead, before she could even fully realize what was happening, they embedded themselves into her. She felt them press into the soft skin of her exposed neck, the sturdiness of her shoulders, her arms, her forearms, her knuckles, the palms of her hands. Whatever they were, she'd fallen on top of some of them as well, and she wrenched upward, a horrible squeal rising in her throat as her back was impaled, set afire with pain.

Beneath her screech, she could hear as they buzzed and hummed, throbbing to life, as they began to leech energy away from her.

Suddenly, her heart had to beat faster, working desperately to feed the hungry mouths that had sunk into her skin, brushing against the smooth sides of her bones. Her blood rushed and pumped through her veins like cars on a highway, zipping through her at an agonizing rate. Her wide eyes throbbed in their sockets, and her cheeks blushed with hot blood as everything, every part of her, tuned up to satisfy the unexpected demands for immediate energy. With her muscles, her organs, fired up, exploding with an immense force she didn't know the human body was capable of creating, she screamed, a shriek so utterly powerful that her very voice box rattled.

Almost as soon as that sapping suck of energy began, the tiny leeches were full and throbbing with bright life. Her heart dropped back to its original beat, her blood halted its burn through her veins, the color died from her cheeks, and her lids slipped shut. The scream died in her throat, becoming first a harsh gasp and then nothing at all, and she let out a shaky breath before going limp. Her mind flickered out, its candle-like flame suffocated by immediate unconsciousness.

This was how Zachary found her, collapsed against the sharp pebbles of the pit's bottom, her eyes closed.

Sitting beside Antonia, his eyes wide with curiosity and amazement, Zachary gently brushed his fingers against his friend's forearm.

Against a shard of alien machinery, its vein-like design bright blue with renewed life, that had embedded itself inside of her.

* * *

"Someone's coming."

Derek's eyes, wide and frantic, stood out against the pale silhouette of his face as he glanced up at the approaching headlights. Two identical bulbs of light flickered as the car itself, a gray Topkick, roared over the debris that littered the remains of Main Street. It was quickly making its way toward the crater, though it was going to have a bit of trouble getting to the pit itself, having to navigate around the collapsed buildings as well as the enormous holes blasted into the street.

_We have about two minutes before we're caught,_ he realized absently. _Two minutes to get the hell out of here._

The panic within him began to rise, to twist out of control.

"Tyler, _move_ your goddamned _ass_!" he hissed, wrapping his arms around his friend's waist and yanking him backward. Tyler let out a strangled yell as his exposed back was dragged across the shards of glass still embedded in the overturned Sedan's passenger window, and after getting him out up to his knees, Derek dropped him. He stared at his friend angrily, listening to Tyler's moans in disgust, before turning to Richie, who was sitting on a slab of nearby concrete and rubbing one tattered, bleeding knee. Richie stared back at Derek, his face expressionless.

"They're dead, aren't they?" Richie asked softly, eying him.

Derek's lips twitched as they wavered between a ferocious snarl and an open-mouthed sob. _I don't know. I really don't know._

Before he could answer, Tyler let out a distraught wail.

"You sick _bastard_!" he sobbed, hitching himself onto his side. His bleeding, dirty hands had tightened into thick fists, and he slammed them against the ground in denial and desperation. Tears streaming from his broiling eyes, Tyler ignored the pain that ripped through his snapped left leg and glared up at Derek. The accusation shining within them caused Derek to wince as though he'd been hit.

"You sick _bastard_, how _could _you?" Tyler repeated, beginning to tremble as he forced himself up into a hunched sitting position. Derek took a step back, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneasy gasps. His eyes had left Tyler's bloodied, battered face and were, instead, locked on the approaching Topkick. Its driver wouldn't see them for another minute or so; it couldn't, not until it turned the street's corner. But when it did, they were all going to be incomprehensible trouble.

_This can't be happening, _he thought, one eye twitching involuntarily. He was supposed to go to college this fall. He was supposed to play on the freshman foot ball team, was supposed to score huge, was supposed to skip to varsity when his obvious talent was realized. He was supposed to become famous, make it to nationals; he was supposed to make it big. Instead, he was going to serve a life sentence in prison because he had murdered two fifteen-year-olds. He was going to serve a life sentence because he was, _drum roll please_, an adult. Not a child, not anymore. Eighteen years old.

Tyler was going to make sure that everyone knew it was murder, and Richie would most likely do the same, to save his own ass.

He was done. He was finished.

_If you escape, they'll never know,_ he thought suddenly, frantically. _If you escape, they'll never know. Someone will vouch for you. They'll never know._

_They'll never know._

"We have to get the fuck out of here," he whispered, glancing from Richie to Tyler, from Tyler to Richie.

"NO!" Tyler screamed hoarsely. He pushed himself up completely, leaning forward as he attempted to rid his left leg of whatever weight it carried. The bloodied locks of his blond hair brushed his knotted eyebrows as he stared at Derek, the tears still churning rivers down his scratched cheeks.

"They're still down here! We're going to find them, Derek! We have to! We did this! We're responsible! It was a joke, a stupid, sick, horrible joke, but it turned into this, and...We're..." His Adam's apple hitched once as he swallowed back another sob. "_Responsible._ Whether they're dead or alive, we have to find them. We have to make sure, and...we have to..to..."

His sentence tapered off as Derek shook his head, his lips mouthing a single word that shocked Tyler so much that he nearly toppled over.

"What?" Tyler whispered in disbelief.

"_No_," Derek repeated. He took a step backward, and then another. "_No._ I'm not going to prison, Tyler. Not for _this_. Not for _her_, or for _him_, or for your goddamned _morals_." He let out a strangled cackle. "I'm thupposed to be famous one day."

There was silence as both Richie and Tyler merely stared at him, their jaws slack.

Derek licked his lips, his panicked eyes darting from the shadowed faces of his friends to the approaching Topkick. It was nearly at the turn; the driver would see him in less than thirty seconds.

He met Tyler's eyes once more, feeling his friend's gaze bore into his own, before turning to hobble quickly across the pit. He slipped between two huge chunks of broken pavement and disappeared.

Tyler's chest hitched, and he glanced at Richie, who had stumbled to his feet. In turn, Richie stared back at Tyler, his bottom lip trembling like a frightened child's. After a moment, he cracked a struggling grin.

"I can't, man," he whispered. He rubbed at a bleeding scratch slashed across his forehead and shrugged his shoulders, that grin still plastered on his bloodied face. "I can't. I...I gotta go. I have...I can't."

"Get the fuck out of here, Richie," Tyler hissed. His tone was unexpectedly cold. "Just get the fuck out of my sight, you douche bag. I knew you wouldn't. Because you can't. Because you're just like Indo, another pussy looking out for himself, without a thought for anyone else. So get the fuck out of here before you're caught red-handed, why don't you?"

Richie's expression paled, and after a moment of staring at his friend, his pained grin drooping like a withered flower, he trudged after Derek. Another moment passed, and he disappeared as well.

Tyler Eller, holding his wounded side with one bleeding hand and stumbling with his broken leg, began to search for Zachary and Antonia.

* * *

"_Damn_."

William Lennox was already pushing open the passenger door before Ironhide came to a full stop, his eyebrows narrowed with concern.

When he and his Autobot companion had begun their nightly patrol of Main Street, making sure that none of the fences had been tampered with and that no one was wandering around inside, he hadn't been expecting to find anything out of the ordinary. In the months that had passed, they had never found any trespassers. Everyone had known better, had understood that they had no business here.

The accident was a surprise, but not a big one. He had never been fond of the mesh fence that blocked off Main from Center. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that barrier looming up at the end of the road. Sooner or later, someone was bound to crash right through it.

_Unfortunately,_ he thought grimly, _"sooner or later" has already happened._

"Be careful, Will," Ironhide rumbled, following alongside the army captain. "The edge is very unstable."

"I'm all right," Will replied absently, observing the overturned Sedan from where he stood. He was busily searching for its victims, and after a moment of confused observation, he realized that there didn't appear to be any. In fact, even from his current distance, the car seemed empty.

"Hey."

"What?" He turned quickly, glancing at Ironhide. The bulky mech, still in his alternate form, revved his engine twice.

"There are two human sparklings attempting to escape our attention," he replied curtly. "They're climbing up the western embankment now. I can see them from here."

Squinting his eyes in an effort to see, Will did, in fact, notice two shadowed forms slowly making their way up the pit's embankment. They were, as Ironhide had said, apparently escaping.

"It seems that they do not want our help," the Autobot muttered. "They want to avoid us completely. That is the only logical explanation as to why they're going away from us instead of toward us." When he noticed Will's intrigued expression, he continued. "They wouldn't be running away if they didn't have a reason to. There is something wrong with this situation, and we'll only know what is wrong if we catch them."

"I'll take care of that," Will said softly, his feet itching to run. Curiosity was eating at him; he couldn't wait to unravel the strange situation. There was just one problem.

He stared pointedly down at the broken Sedan, as well as the snapped fence, and then glanced over at Ironhide, desperately hoping that the Autobot would make the connection. Ironhide, however, remained silent. He knew exactly what Will wanted, but he wanted to have fun as well. Chase and capture was fun. Cleaning up someone else's mess was never fun, even for a being his size, who could usually get it done easily.

After a few moments of anticipation, Will rubbed the back of his head, put on his most authentic, charming grin and asked the obvious question: "Hey, buddy?...You mind...?"

Ironhide mumbled something incoherent before letting out an exasperated sigh. "_Fine_. I'll clean up. Might as well fix the slagging fence while I'm down there..."

He let the sentence taper off when he realized Will was already skittering around the pit's edge, toward their escapees. He thought of calling out another "Be careful!" but held himself back. Asking William Lennox to be careful was like asking a human child using that suicidal device, the "skateboard", to be careful: it didn't make much sense and it wouldn't do any good. Will would continue to be careless, just as the little organic would continue to skateboard. Most likely without a helmet.

Plus, every time he said it, he felt like his fragging mother.

"Hmph," the mech mumbled, driving backward a few feet so that he could transform comfortably. "Here comes the clean-up crew."

* * *

From what he could see, the alien fragments weren't skin deep.

They were _bone_ deep.

He'd gathered this assumption based on the wails that had erupted from Antonia in a painful explosion when he'd attempted to extract one of the jagged pieces from her forearm. Compared to the other stones, it was relatively small. _If I can't get even a small piece out of her,_ he thought, his expression troubled, _what am I going to do about the bigger ones?_

Zach had already come to the conclusion that he was going to have to take care of her himself, as this was not an ailment that could be cured with the help of modern medication, nor was he willing to _rely_ on modern medication. He was not about to trust all that the doctors of the world had to offer, not with something like this. He knew exactly what would happen. He'd seen the movies, he'd read the stories, he'd watched it unfold in his own hometown, and what he'd seen was this: when it came to aliens, as well as anything connected to aliens, the human race just couldn't cope. His species' solution to alien contact was to wage war on any galactic visitor that dared to step foot on their planet.

Their newest, and so far only, alien "friends", Optimus Prime and the Autobots, were still alive only because current technology couldn't hurt them. He supposed that there were other reasons. For one, there was so much to learn from them, technological and otherwise. They had protected the entire human species from becoming extinct at the hands of the Decepticons, for another. But the overall idea was that they were, at the moment, too powerful to overwhelm. As soon as the tables turned, however, someone with a score to settle would do something rash. Something radical.

Zachary shuddered at the thought.

He was, personally, all for the Autobots' presence on Earth. He would've done just about anything to spend even a moment with their medic Ratchet, or Optimus Prime himself. But he was only one person. More than half of the population of America, not to mention the world, was against their occupation here. In fact, he believed that there were only a few select things tying the Autobots to Earth. They currently had no other place to call home; there were Decepticons still lurking about that would definitely take advantage of Earth's inhabitants if the Autobots _did_ leave; and, perhaps most importantly, the relationships they'd formed with their human companions were already too strong to just forget. Zachary had seen them together, wandering around Mission City. Although it had been less than a year since they had arrived, it was clear that the Autobots and their human allies were close.

Sam Witwicky and Mikaela Banes, the Autobots' youngest friends, had attended Tranquility High in a town only a few miles from Mission City, and would still be there if there wasn't the threat of them being targets for the Decepticons. In Zachary's opinion, they were the two luckiest teenagers in the world. Who wouldn't want to have a talking, transforming, sentient Camaro as their best friend?

A smile suddenly spread across his lips, one he didn't seem entirely aware of. _If these things are what I think they are, _he thought to himself,_ we're about to give the Autobots one of their biggest surprises yet._

The idea that Antonia had been, for lack of a better word, "infected" with the remains of the Transformers' All Spark both amazed and frightened him. On the one hand, this was going to connect them both to the beings that had been so out of his reach despite the fact that, in reality, they were so incredibly close. On the other hand, how badly was this infection hurting her?

Zachary fidgeted uncomfortably. _Perhaps the real question is, How badly is it _going_to hurt her?_

He knew without a doubt that Antonia would be safe with the Autobots if she was kept under the radar long enough for him to get their attention. It was only if he went to the nearest police station or hospital with her in tow that he wasn't one hundred percent sure about the safety and care she'd receive. Who knew what the government, the President, the FBI, would have in store for someone as unfortunate as her? Perhaps they would keep her from the Autobots because she was a human being like themselves and they therefore believed they had first dibs. Perhaps they'd never return her, would snatch her out of existence, would lock her in a cage in a laboratory somewhere. Perhaps they would perform tests on her, like a lab rat. See what she was capable of, being the host of the All Spark's remains.

This time, the shudder that rocked him was harder, teeth-rattling.

It was clear that he couldn't count on just any official wearing scrubs or toting a badge. He'd have to go straight to someone they could both fully trust, which was ironically someone that wasn't a human being.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as though he and Antonia could just march up to the Autobots. If it was that easy, everyone would be doing the same thing because everyone was just as interested as he was. In fact -

_Hold on a moment,_ a small, patient voice spoke up from inside of his mind. _You don't even know whether or not these "stones" are pieces of the All Spark. You're merely jumping to a conclusion that suits your own desires. Speaking of which, everything you've thought of so far revolves around you:_ you _packaging up Antonia like a Christmas gift and handing her off to anyone who reaches for her. What a way to treat someone who was actually_ nice _to you. Why not get her somewhere safe first, fix her up as best as you can, and wait for her to wake up? That way, you actually know what _she_ wants, instead of what _you_ want._

Guilt immediately bubbled up inside of him, uncomfortable and shameful. He _was _only thinking of himself, his own desire to meet an alien being. Antonia wasn't an object for bartering and he had to stop imagining her that way.

Feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, that ugly guilt causing his shoulders to slump, he brushed the tips of his fingers against Antonia's stone-spotted, open palm, silent and thoughtful. _I really have to get her somewhere safe. But where...?_

"Is she all right?"

Zachary let out a gasp, feeling the blood spatter from his scratched cheeks as his head jerked up, his eyes meeting those of Tyler Eller's. It wasn't the boy's arrival that surprised him the most, as he imagined that Derek Indo and whoever else had tagged along, most likely Richie Whyler, were stumbling around the pit as well. It was the obvious worry that punctured Tyler's voice, causing it to hitch and crack like a young boy's.

Yet, despite his worry, Zach still wasn't completely convinced of the senior's concern. Tyler hadn't driven the Sedan, and he was sure that Tyler hadn't been the man with the plan, either. But he was one of Derek's friends, one who'd been in the same car that had nearly killed both him and Antonia, and on some level, Zach very badly wanted to hate Tyler. In fact, he wanted to hate him to the point that he could beat the living hell out of him, beat him within an inch of his life, without batting an eye.

It was only when he noticed that Tyler freely allowed his tears to dribble down his bloodied cheeks, tears born of fright and distress, that Zachary erased all negative thought about him and felt even worse for ever thinking such things about Tyler in the first place.

_Don't you remember, Zach?_ that small, inner voice piped up yet again. _Derek has beaten the crap out of you more than once. Richie has done the same, has even laughed while doing it. But Tyler never once touched you. Granted, he didn't always step in to stop the others when enough was enough, but he did as much as he could to keep from hurting you or anyone else. And any eighteen-year-old willing to take responsibly for his actions instead of bailing out has got to be one worth giving another chance to._

_He could've left, Zach. He could've. But he didn't._

Zachary wiped his lips with the back of his hand, staring hard at Tyler's confused, sullen expression.

"She's going to be all right, I think," he said, after a moment of silence. His voice was hoarse. "But...something's happened to her, Tyler."

Tyler relaxed, and having been reassured of Antonia's overall well-being, he rubbed the tears from his eyes and let curiosity completely overwhelm his expression. He carefully hobbled to where Antonia lay and settled down beside her, favoring his broken leg although it quite obviously no longer held his interest.

"...She's _glowing_," he whispered softly, amazement sparking within his eyes as he gently stroked a piece of machinery implanted within her exposed shoulder, the flap of her torn shirt brushing his fingertips.

There was something incredibly innocent about the emotion in Tyler's eyes. Zachary could have summed it up to the fact that Tyler was slightly thick-headed, but that explanation didn't fit quite right. Instead, it seemed as though that was just who Tyler was, and with each passing moment, Zach realized how incredibly wrong he'd been about him. It was no wonder the bulky, friendly boy had never truly clicked with Richie and Derek.

He was nothing like them.

Zach, who had been watching Tyler's fingers brush against Antonia's olive skin and feeling the tiniest amount of jealousy without quite realizing it, blinked when he noticed that Tyler had stopped touching her. Instead, his fingers were frozen in their curled positions, trembling hard.

He glanced up at Tyler's face and felt his eyes widen when he saw how pale his cheeks had become, how his jaw had gone slack, and how his gaze had shifted from Antonia's unconscious form to the space above Zach's right shoulder.

Even before he turned himself to see what Tyler was staring at, he knew that someone would be standing there. The thought of Derek Indo rearing up to punch his face in, Richie trailing him like a shadow, crossed his mind. But it wasn't Derek.

Ironhide, the Autobot's weapons specialist, was standing less than fifty feet away.


	6. Chapter VI

**Spitfire**

_Chapter VI_

Tyler Eller nearly screamed when he felt Zach's bloodied fingers tighten around his wrist.

He'd been so focused on Ironhide's bulky silhouette, watching the Autobot's every move, that the very last thing he expected was the tentative touch. He blinked once, quickly, and as he swallowed his scream, he shifted himself so that he faced Zach instead of Ironhide.

His eyes were wide with terror, amazement, excitement, confusion, worry, exhaustion, such a broil of emotions that Zachary had to look twice to catch even a few of them. Yet he had no doubt that his eyes, however bruised and throbbing, were a reflection of Tyler's own.

"Tyler," Zach whispered hoarsely. "We..."

_Say it,_ his talkative conscience ordered. _You have to get out of here. It doesn't matter whether or not Antonia is infected with the remains of the All Spark, and it doesn't matter that an Autobot happens to be close by. This isn't your call. It's her's. So you stay away from them until you get her opinion._

Zach sighed, rubbing away a stray dribble of blood that was dripping down his scratched chin. "We have to hide."

Although Tyler agreed with him readily enough, giving his head an amiable nod, his gaze turned to Antonia once again. He inspected her arms, flickering with the soft light of the alien machinery, and his expression hardened as he attempted to make some sort of mental connection. Zachary had an idea as to what that connection was and he knew that he couldn't let Tyler make it, not yet. If he did, it could ruin everything.

Zach pushed himself to his feet as best as he could, holding his broken arm against his chest and forcing the agonizing pain of it to ebb. He watched where he walked, as to not step on any loose stones whose grinding could attract Ironhide's attention, and gripped a fistful of Tyler's varsity jacket with his good hand. The jacket's fabric was stained with dirt, street muck and blotches of blood, streaked with cement dust, ripped and ruined; it looked as though it belonged to the Teenage Zombie, not sweet-tempered Tyler Eller.

"Let me help you up," Zach murmured, yanking at his hold on Tyler's tattered jacket to get him going. Tyler hefted his hands beneath himself and, using his good leg, got into a hunched, upright position, his broken left limb dangling behind him. Zachary slipped an arm around his waist, taking on as much of Tyler's weight as he could, and Tyler companionably placed his own arm around Zachary's shoulders, giving the younger boy a grateful smile as he did so. Zach slowly returned it. It felt foreign to his bloodied lips, this smile aimed at the boy who had been friends with his greatest tormentors.

Their short connection broken almost as soon as it had formed, they both turned their heads to glance at Antonia's unconscious silhouette. Zachary's mind clicking along at a rapid rate, he opened his mouth to instruct Tyler as to how to pick her up when the senior silenced him, simply reaching down toward her. Before Zach could argue, he snaked his hand beneath her, snatched at what was left of her collar, and hefted her up, tucking her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Under other circumstances, Zach would have laughed aloud. The size difference between the two was comical; the tips of Antonia's sneakers barely reached Tyler's ribcage.

Glancing around in the growing darkness, his face pale and all too noticeable against the night's shadow, he let out a soft hiss as he found exactly what he was looking for.

With Tyler's gaze busily locked on Ironhide, Zachary tugged the bulky boy along, hobbling toward their destination and praying with every beat of his heart that they would go unnoticed.

* * *

The Sedan was totaled.

Ironhide picked up the old car with the tips of his thick fingers, and after bouncing it once in the palm of his hand, he peered inside. Sections of jagged rock and gravel tumbled along the floor, and dust coated the torn, leather seats as well as the shattered dashboard. Other than that, it was empty.

He did know, however, that three unfortunate human sparklings had once occupied the ruined Sedan as there were three separate types of red lubricant, _Blood_, he corrected himself absently, that stained the seats as well as the floor.

He scowled, and after ripping open the old car's roof, peeking inside and groping for any human bodies, as he knew from past experience that they were small enough to hide absolutely _anywhere_, he convinced himself that it was entirely empty as well as beyond repair. Placing it between his two palms, a hiss of air whipped through his intakes as he crushed it together, molding the screeching, grinding, metal ruin into a bulky square, all the easier for scraping. He then threw it casually off to the side, his blue optics focusing on the snapped mesh fence.

Something shifted behind him.

Ironhide whipped around, one cannon cocked defensively. He watched as a single concrete rock bounced down the embankment, coming to a skittering rest near the pointed toes of his left foot. His senses heightened to an inhuman extreme, he slowly, carefully, began to pick his way through the wreckage that littered the pit.

Vaguely, he believed he could hear the soft, frightened patter of three human heartbeats.

* * *

Zachary felt as though he was suffocating.

He and Tyler were shoulder-to-shoulder, pressed together in a small nook created between two, huge slabs of snapped pavement. The slabs came together at a triangular point, and he had packed first Tyler and Antonia, then himself, into the tepee-like housing.

Everything had gone better than he had expected. Ironhide hadn't heard them, even when Tyler had stumbled on a loose stone that had nearly caused the trio to topple over. When they'd finally slipped between the two cement slabs, Zachary had been nearly sobbing with relief. Granted, it was a tight fit against the cement, but they only had to hide until the Autobot finally wandered off.

It would've been perfect, had he not tripped when trying to climb in behind Tyler and Antonia.

Tyler had snatched him inside before Ironhide had gotten a good look, but as the Autobot's rumbling footsteps thumped closer, acting on mere suspicion, it was just as bad as if Ironhide _had_ seen him.

His heart rode so high in his throat that he could taste each rabbit-frantic beat as Ironhide came closer, bent forward defensively.

_Thump, snap!...Thump, crackle...Thump..._

Against the opposite wall of cracked cement, Zachary could see the bright, blue light that radiated from the Autobot's narrowed optics, and he moaned in frightened despair. _We're done for, we're done for, we're done for..._

When Tyler groped for him, trembling hard enough to make all three of them rattle, Zachary didn't pull away. Instead, he pressed himself against the senior's bleeding side, his arms snaking around Antonia's thin waist. Above him, Tyler's head tucked against his own, his huge, right hand yanking him closer in a desperate attempt to hide him better.

Antonia crumpled in Tyler's lap and Zachary pressed against his right side, the two boys curled in on their smaller, unconscious friend in an odd, human shield. They waited.

Closing his eyes, Zachary could no longer distinguish between his own heart beat and the approaching steps of Ironhide. _Thump-thump-thump-thump..._

_Please God. Please._


	7. Chapter VII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter VII_

"Ironhide!" William Lennox's voice echoed throughout the littered pit, resounding from where the young man stood on its edge.

Ironhide jumped with surprise, nearly sending a cannon blast into the thick, cement slabs. He caught himself at the last second and stood up, his head cocked to one side.

"Hey, bud, I need some help!" Will called. "Are you finished yet?"

_You're jumping at shadows, _his conscience chastised._ There's no one here. Go get the fence fixed._

_What about those heartbeats?_ Ironhide countered silently.

He was not given a response.

His bright optics leaving the tiny triangle of darkness between the cement slabs, he let out a sigh, the air rattling through his intakes. "Yeah, I'm almost done!" he barked in reply. "Give me another minute!" Glaring at the slabs once more, he turned away, absently holding his cannon in the air as its intricate pieces ground together, slipping into his arm.

"I've given you _five_ minutes already!" his charge teased. "What are you doing down there? Playing with yourself?"

Ironhide raised an optic ridge and snarled loudly in response. A growl of such ferocity would have sent anyone else, even Sam Witwicky and Mikaela Banes, running; Will, however, answered it with a few soft snickers.

His snarl tapering off, the bulky Autobot hobbled over to the pit's embankment and gripped the broken section of mesh fence between his two hands, pulling and yanking it back into its original position. He set it to where it had been before and, using a small laser tucked against his wrist, melded the mesh together.

Standing back to admire his quick work and flicking a finger against it to test its strength, he nodded, satisfied, before leaning over to grab the Sedan's squared remains.

As he bounced it in his hand as a child would bounce a rubber ball, he glanced back at the two cement slabs, that tiny hiding space between them, and his optics narrowed with suspicion. _Those heart beats..._

"Ironhide...? Seriously, is everything okay?"

He gave his head a hard shake as he trundled over the rocks and pointed pavement pieces. _Let it go._

"No, no, everything's fine! I'm coming!"

* * *

Zachary let out a soft sigh, releasing his tight hold on Antonia and pulling away from both her and Tyler. He absently hugged his broken arm against his thin chest, trying to control the hitching of his breath, the horrible shudders that wracked his body.

There had been times, plenty of times, when he'd been 'hunted'. It was never a life-or-death situation, of course, but it was still stressful. Or more recently, it was.

He'd played tens upon tens of games of man hunt and hide-and-go-seek with his neighbors when he'd been younger, but as he'd aged, those games had become more serious. Soon, they were no longer games but escapes from whatever bullies wanted to wail on him. Soon, he was hiding so that he wouldn't sport a new bruise or bloodied nose on his way home from school. Soon, hide-and-go-seek became _get away alive_, and the man hunt became literal.

With Ironhide, the feeling hadn't been quite the same; he was relatively sure that the Autobot wouldn't intentionally hurt him, Tyler, or Antonia had he found them, but seeing the crouched shadow of the bulky mech thrown against the opposite slab of cement was frightening. It was almost as if the very being who'd pledged to protect them was about to pounce on them like a hungry cat on three trapped mice.

As if they had been stalked by a _Decepticon_, rather than an Autobot.

As he brushed one trembling hand down the side of his scratched face, feeling the dried blood rub off at his touch in rusty flakes, Zach shuddered. _Why am I always the mouse?_ he thought distractedly.

Beside him, Tyler let out a sigh of relief. "Whew," he whispered, and within the darkness of their hiding place, he smiled, his teeth shining bright white against the alien light of Antonia's infection. "That was a close one, huh? We almost got caught!"

"Uh-uh-huh..."

Zachary stopped, and then nodded instead, his lips pressed tightly together. His single, unwounded eye was alight with an emotion that Tyler didn't understand, given the situation: it was embarrassment. The Linebacker blinked.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

Zach said nothing, his eyebrows knit together with irritation. After a moment, he dejectedly turned his head away, hiding his expression.

Tyler blinked again, shifting Antonia to a more comfortable position in his arms as he edged closer to his newest companion. Although his left leg was aching horribly, it didn't hold his attention; he'd just noticed that Zachary hadn't stopped trembling.

Grasping at the first response that came to mind, one his mother had often used with him when he had been a toddler, he nudged Zach's shoulder. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong, you know," he stated.

Zachary's head stayed tucked away for a moment more before he slowly lifted it to meet Tyler's concerned gaze. Once again, he badly wanted to hate the older boy enough to refuse him an answer, yet he saw nothing in Tyler's expression worth hating. In fact, he saw only worry. _Please, God, _he thought to himself, swallowing hard._ If he laughs at me, I don't know what I'm going to do._

"Uh-uh-uh-uh-_I_ ah-ah-_am_ fuh-fuh-fuh-_fine_," Zachary stuttered weakly.

The confusion that draped Tyler's face was comical in its sudden appearance. He raised a single eyebrow, both of his blue eyes wide.

Zach felt his cheeks flush a deep red. He grimaced, his trembling becoming even worse, and raked a hand nervously through his hair. "Uh-uh-uh-I stu-stu-stutter whe-whe-whe-when uh-I'm scuh-scuh-scared."

There was complete silence as Tyler continued to stare, as Zachary felt his blush deepen and spread up his freckled cheeks, to his temple, down the course of his neck, setting his ears on fire with it, the complete embarrassment that always tagged along with his horrible stutter like an ugly caboose.

Suddenly, the confusion drained from Tyler's expression, only to be replaced with a goofy grin. "Oh! That's okay. Because I do weird shit when I'm scared too, you know."

Zach blinked. "O-oh yuh-yuh-yeah?"

"Uh huh. I hiccup." There was another bout of silence as Tyler's expression changed yet again, revealing one of intense concentration.

Zach's lips twitched as he forced himself not to smirk. _It's as though he's trying to convince a hiccup to -_

"HIC!"

The hiccup shot through Tyler's throat as suddenly as if he had summoned it from his body, causing them both to jump. Zachary didn't hop nearly as high as Tyler did, as he didn't have the hiccup to propel him. The senior, however, wasn't so lucky.

"Son offa HUP! _bitch_!" Tyler cried as the top of his head knocked against the concrete roof of their cramped hideaway. He immediately clapped his hands against the bruised area, his mouth twisting into a pout.

Zachary couldn't help it; he began to laugh, first in quiet, snuffling giggles, then louder woofs. He gripped himself around his waist, crying out _"UH-UH-OW!"_ when his broken arm thumped against his chest, and laughing all the harder with the added, utter relief that everything had turned out all right.

Tyler glared at him, realized that Zachary wasn't laughing at him so much as he was just _laughing_, and began to chuckle as well.

They laughed for nearly three minutes, two relieved, confused, exhausted young boys, trapped within a cramped space where there was hardly enough room to breathe, let alone to have fits of giggles. At the moment, nothing mattered to either of them except that they were alive. They'd nearly been caught by the Autobot's jumpiest soldier, they each sported a broken limb among other wounds, their newest friend was unconscious and infected with some sort of alien machinery, and yet, they were all still alive.

They were still alive.

When their giggles finally began to taper off, Zachary kneaded at his tearing eyes and smiled companionably at Tyler. He was enjoying the older boy's company much more than he had believed he would.

"Cuh-cuh-cuh-common," he said. "Luh-let's get uh-out of here."


	8. Chapter VIII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter VIII_

"Ratchet, you insult my intelligence with such easy work."

Sam Witwicky carefully folded the sheet of questions into a paper airplane, pointed it at the seated medic, and let it fly. Ratchet raised an optic ridge as it sailed past his face, breaking his concentration. It did a loopy corkscrew in the air before gracefully landing against the metal desktop, coming to a rest beside his wrist. He pinched the wing of Sam's tiny paper plane between his thumb and forefinger, smoothed it out, and began to check the answers.

Mikaela glanced at Sam uneasily, her arm shifting so that her own half-finished worksheet was hidden from view. She sighed and bent over her work, rubbing the eraser of her pencil absently with the pad of her thumb.

Sam, oblivious to the amount of trouble she was having, poked her shoulder. "Are you almost finished?" he asked. "We've gotta go soon. It's getting late."

Before she could answer, Ratchet sent the paper airplane sailing back to Sam. It brushed against Mikaela's nose, causing her to blink and pull away with surprise, before hitting Sam squarely in the chest. It scissored back and forth through the air and collapsed into his lap.

"Wrong."

"Huh?" Sam asked, confused. "_Wrong_?"

"Yes," Ratchet replied, turning to stare at Sam over his shoulder. "Wrong. Spreken ze engles, Sam?"

"Yes, I s-spreken!" the teenager sputtered, gripping the paper in his fist and shaking it at Ratchet, who gazed back, amused. "But - "

"Then you have never been wrong before?"

"No, I have, but - "

"No buts," the medic interrupted, returning to his work. He was bent over some Autobot-sized medical instruments that Sam still didn't fully understand the uses for, though they all looked equally sharp and equally scary. "You are wrong. Every answer is wrong." Grumbling incoherently, he continued to inspect the objects that littered his work desk.

Sam, his head resting glumly in his hands, glanced up at Ratchet's turned back. "Huh?"

"Do not say 'huh', Sam. It makes you sound like a fool. Say 'Please repeat yourself, Ratchet, I was not listening'." The medic chuckled icily. "Though that is quite normal of you."

"Hey, I do listen!"

"Oh, really? If you listened to me _half_ of the time I spoke to you...Slag it all. What is the point?" Ratchet stood up straight, rubbing the back of his head in a gesture that was all too human to go unnoticed. Sam knew quite well it was one of exasperation; the Autobot had probably mimicked it from Sam himself. "Half of the problem is you and your inability to keep focused. The other half of the problem is Bumblebee."

"Aw, common, doc! It isn't - "

"But it is, Sam. He distracts you too much." Ratchet turned and approached the place on the floor where Sam and Mikaela were seated. He carefully set himself between them. "I had to send him out on patrol with Jazz just so you could finish your work, and I often wonder whether pulling you out of school for the last few semesters was the right thing to do, your own safety aside."

Sam ducked his head, absently playing with the corners of his folded worksheet. "Sorry, Ratch'," he mumbled.

"It is all right, boy," the medic replied curtly. "As I said, it is not entirely your fault. You and Bumblebee just need to be a little more focused, that is all." After a moment of silence, Sam's head still bent low, Ratchet turned to Mikaela. He gently tugged her arms away from where they lay across her paper. "Let me see your progress, Mikaela."

She sighed and pushed herself into a sitting position, holding her homework sheet tightly in her hands. When Ratchet gestured for it, she gave the paper over after one last glance at the answers, and sat, fidgeting uncomfortably, as the mech inspected what she'd written.

When she finally worked up the nerve to look at him, she blinked with surprise; he was smiling.

"Wonderful work, Mikaela!" he exulted. "At least I know that someone is benefiting from the lectures I give."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, looking distraught. "Ratchet, I said I - "

"Sam, I know, I know. I am sorry. That was my attempt at a tease." He nudged the boy's back with the tip of his finger companionably. "I know how much you enjoy spending time with Bumblebee. You just need to have a balance between him and...well, and everything else."

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "I'll stop goofing off, Ratchet. I promise."

"I know you will. You are a good boy, Sam."

"I try." Sam smiled wanly up at the Autobot. "By the way, thanks a lot."

"Hm?" The medic blinked. "For what?"

"For teaching us," Mikaela cut in, beginning to slip her books and binders back into her bag. "We appreciate it. It's really nice of you."

He chuckled, bending down to their height. "It is not as though I had a choice in the matter, though I suppose I have gotten used to it." He dropped them a wink to let them know that he was just teasing again. "Do not worry about the rest of that worksheet, Mikaela. As long as you understand the concept of it, you do not need to repeat it twenty times. And Sam," he poked the boy's chest, "I will help you with it tomorrow. For now, you both need to get to sleep. It is late."

He nodded toward the doorway. "Have Bumblebee drive you home."

"Jazz and 'Bee aren't back yet. If they were, they would've been in here by now," Sam said, hefting his back pack over his shoulder.

Ratchet looked longingly over at his medical tools, and then pinched the space between his optics, letting out a sigh. "All right, come on. I will - "

"It is all right, Ratchet. I will take them home."

The three turned to watch as Optimus Prime approached, his arms crossed over his chassis. Although it was not his intention to appear menacing, both Sam and Mikaela unconsciously took a step away from him. Sam's grip around his back pack's strap visibly tightened.

Even though the two teenagers had spent nearly a year under the Autobot's close supervision, Optimus Prime had remained at a distance. While being far from cold, he was quiet, more introverted than his soldiers, so their relationship with him wasn't as easy-going as the ones they'd formed with the other Autobots. There was something incredibly powerful about him, and while that power had earned their respect and their awe, it had also earned their wariness.

Optimus Prime was not ignorant of their wariness; it was painfully obvious that both Sam and Mikaela were stiff and uncomfortably formal around him. The last thing he wanted was for the two human beings he cared most for to be frightened of him, but he didn't know how to twist those feelings into something else. He tried to spend as much time as he could with his charges, but it was difficult to juggle the two teenagers with everything and everyone else that called for his immediate attention, and because spending time with them was the one thing he could afford to miss, he often did just that. However, watching them step back from him as though repelled by some sort of invisible shield, he deeply regretted not putting them first once in awhile.

_If I was Bumblebee, you would be running to greet me,_ he thought distractedly, and for a moment, the jealousy he felt for his youngest soldier was so strong that it surprised him. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

Ratchet smiled at him, pretending to be oblivious of what had just happened. "Are you sure you do not mind?" he asked.

"Not at all." _I care about them too, you know. I do not show it much, but I do._

Ratchet nodded and glanced at Sam and Mikaela, who had moved closer together. "I will see you two tomorrow. Have a good night, and sleep well."

"Good night, Ratchet," they mumbled in unison, watching as the medic stood up and retreated back to his desk. Then they both shifted toward Optimus Prime, their faces upturned to his own.

There was silence as they observed each other, bright blue optics locked on two pairs of wide eyes.

Optimus Prime slowly bent down, holding his cupped hands out in front of him as he reached for his charges, They both climbed into his palms readily enough, and he felt the relief flood through him when Sam and Mikaela smiled at him, Sam's grin goofy, Mikaela's sweet.

"I am sorry that I have not been around lately," he said quietly, curling his fingers around them protectively as he stood back up. He felt the teenagers relax against him as he walked out of the base's medical bay.

"It's all right," Sam replied loftily, tapping the tip of his finger companionably. Beside him, Mikaela rested her hand against Optimus's thumb.

"I've missed you," she said. Beside her, Sam nodded in agreement. "I have too," he added.

Optimus heard the truth in their voices, and smiled. _I have missed you two as well._

Before he could respond, a collision of stamping feet and resounding sobs echoed throughout the enormous hallway as the main entrance to the base opened.

_"Please, just listen for a second, all right?" _a voice pled desperately. _"You need to listen! I didn't mean to - "_

_"I DON'T GIVE THE SLIGHTEST _DAMN_ IF YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO!"_ another voice, absolutely furious, snapped. _"IT STILL HAPPENED! IT STILL GODDAMNED _HAPPENED_!"_

Five voices then clamored together in a horrible, angry chorus, and he felt Sam and Mikaela wince against him, their hands clapping over their ears. He recognized three of the five voices as Will's, Jazz's, and Bumblebee's. The other two, however, sounded as young as the humans he held in his hands.

Turning the final corner with his optics narrowed, he stopped short, blinking at what he saw. William Lennox was hauling two bloodied, battered teenage boys, silver handcuffs locked around their wrists, behind him as he marched away from the main entrance. Jazz and Bumblebee followed along on either side. Bumblebee looked worried, Jazz disgusted.

They all stopped, Autobot and human alike, when they noticed Optimus Prime standing at the corner. Will stared up at him, his expression twisted into a snarl and bursting with explanation. Behind him, the boys' faces paled. One of them, a slim blond with cheeks that were smeared with blood and dust, let out a low moan.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, so _huge_," he whispered, and even from where he was, Optimus could see him tremble as he stared, his watery eyes bulging. "So _huge_."

Slumped beside the blond, the other boy continued to bawl, the tears swirling down his scratched, frightened face and turning his blood a pastel pink color. His chest hitched like a child's, and he nudged his wet cheeks against his shoulder, unable to use his hands to wipe his tears away.

Optimus Prime blinked again. "...Would anyone like to tell me what has happened?" he asked as he glanced around. One Autobot, he noticed, was missing. "And where is Ironhide?"

"He'll be back in awhile," Will responded in a growl, hefting the boys forward again. They let out a chorus of wails. "Right now, these two have a bit of an explaining to do."


	9. Chapter IX

**Spitfire**

_Chapter IX_

Tyler gave the ripped mesh a yank, one strong enough to create a hole no bigger or more noticeable than needed. It tore stubbornly, its little wire hooks catching in at last five different places. He sighed, hefted Antonia closer against him, and tightened his fingers around the mesh in as strong a grip as he could manage. The second time he yanked, the fence tore easily, letting out a short-lived, ear-piercing squeal as it gave way.

Zachary, sitting crouched behind him, winced at the unexpected noise. His heart beat quickened, sure that someone had heard despite the fact that Ironhide and whoever had called his name had left nearly ten minutes earlier; his stuttering had abated, but his gnawing nervousness had not.

Glancing around, his eyes wide and bright against the mask of blood that covered his wounded face in rusted flakes, he crept after Tyler, helping the older boy with his broken leg as he barely snuggled through the fence, then quickly slipping through himself. Once outside, he rearranged the cut in the mesh so that it was barely noticeable, and after wiping his dirtied hand absently on the seat of his pants, he stood up straight, his body tense as he listened for any approaching cars, any late-night walkers.

He could hear nothing but the distant wail of a siren and the soft beat of music that throbbed from The Crater's dark recesses; there was no one around.

Releasing a sigh of relief, he glanced down at Tyler Eller.

The senior looked back up at him, a grim expression on his dusty face. He was sitting on the pavement, both legs splayed out in front of him and his thick arms rested loosely around Antonia, who was curled in his lap with her head resting against his chest. She was still unconscious.

"Where do we go now?" Tyler asked, sounding utterly exhausted. "What do we _do_ now?"

Zachary rubbed the back of his head, the emotions in his eyes becoming distant. After a moment of silence, his gaze returned to Tyler. Without his glasses on, he saw both him and Antonia as only the vaguest blotches of color.

"Tyler, I need you to understand something," he began cautiously. "A lot of things, actually."

The Linebacker was silent.

He took his silence as a thumbs-up to continue. "Whether we like it or not, we're in this together now," he said, approaching Tyler and taking a seat beside him on the pavement. In turn, Tyler shifted toward him, listening carefully. "And this, whatever this is, inside of Antonia...It needs to be kept a secret."

"Why?"

The simple question surprised him. The reason as to why Antonia's infection needed to be kept a secret had seemed so obvious in his own mind that he had seen no point in explaining it.

"Just because, it - Wait." Zach gave his head a quick shake. "Do you know what it is, or do you think you know?"

"There is really only one thing it could be, isn't there?" Tyler replied softly, glancing down at Antonia. She let out a sleep-soft sigh, her head lolling against him. "It's the All Spark. Or broken pieces of it. What else could have been down there, where the Transformers were last year, besides the All Spark?" He nodded as though to reassure himself. "Yeah. It has to be."

Zachary blinked. Tyler could be thick, but he certainly wasn't as thick as he'd originally believed him to be. "That's what I think it is as well. And although there's still a slight chance we could both be wrong, I'm going with my gut. We can't let anyone know about this because someone might try to hurt Antonia if they find out about what's inside of her."

Tyler's eyes widened with realization, and he bit his bottom lip, feeling panic rise within him. Somehow, in the light of how incredibly important this situation really was, more so than he'd thought at first, his broken leg seemed so small in comparison. It was the three of them against all odds; they couldn't go anywhere, do anything, without raising suspicion. The hospital workers, the police, they'd all be questioning, viciously curious.

And who could stop them from taking Antonia away? He and Zach certainly couldn't.

"Tyler," Zach murmured. The senior glanced up at him, his eyes still wide and wary. The younger boy absently scratched his bleeding head. "I know I just said that we're in this together, but...well." He shrugged. "Maybe...I think there's still a chance that you can get out of this. You can leave now, go to the hospital, tell them the gist of what happened: you were in a car crash. They'll fix you up, and you can move on. You don't have to know us."

Even before he had finished speaking, Tyler was shaking his head. "No way, Jose."

Zach's brows knit together in confusion. "...Why? Why would you - "

"I _want_ to be a part of this," Tyler interrupted forcefully. "I want to make sure that you're both all right. I want to be able to help. I can't…I can't just back _out_, not now. That's something..." _That's something Derek would do._

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. The fact is, I ain't goin' nowhere, friend," he stated. A smirk etched itself onto his bloodied face. "Besides, don't you get it?"

"Get what?"

"How perfectly we ended up together?"

"What are you talking about?" Zachary cried, throwing his hands into the air, both eyebrows raised in exasperation. "We're the survivors of massive road rage who hid together inside of a rock...rock _tepee_ in order to escape the wrath of a trigger-happy robot. How is that anything along the lines of perfect? That's just insane!"

"No, you don't understand - "

"Obviously."

" - What I mean is _this_. Look...I'm the brawn." He pointed to himself. "You're the brains." He poked Zach in the chest. "And she's the chick." He pointed down at Antonia. "It's the classic trio. Don't you watch movies? TV? Hello?"

Zach's mouth opened, his lips forming a retort, and then snapped shut. After a moment of consideration, he nodded slowly as he considered Tyler's observation and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, yeah. I mean, I guess...But who's going to end up with the chick? Someone always does."

"Is that even a question?" Tyler sniffed, fluttering his eyes playfully. "_I_ am. Who can resist this face?"

"Caked in blood? How about everyone, except maybe Dracula?" Zachary carefully pushed himself to his feet. "He might give you a few good licks."

"Ah say, _ah say_, boyo. Watch dat mouth o'yours, Grammy no like dem sex jokes." Dragging his one working leg beneath him for leverage, Tyler tightened his hold around Antonia, pressing her against his chest. With his free hand, he reached out for Zach. "Now you help yo Grammy off dis heah sidewalk."

Zachary rolled his eyes, fighting back rising bubbles of laughter. Tyler wasn't the brightest bulb, but he was loyal. He was safe. He was friendly.

He helped heft Tyler up with his single good hand. "Yeah, yeah, Grammy. Keep your panties on." When the senior was standing, holding his broken leg up in the air behind him, Zach tucked an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

"You takin' this sweet ole ladeh out to dinnah, son?" Tyler asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"No, ma'am. I'm taking you back to my house."

"Oh my! On the first date?"

Zach's response was quiet. "It's the only safe place we can go."

Tyler frowned. "What about your parents, dude?" he asked. "What are they gonna say?"

"They won't be there."

"Huh? Why?"

"They never are."

* * *

Ironhide, his optics narrowed, observed the pit's bottom with a careful gaze.

_Those boys, they must have been lying, _he thought, an irritated snarl rumbling in the back of his throat. _They have to have been. The children they 'hit'...they are not here._

He'd checked the tiny hiding place between the cement slabs where he'd heard, or thought he'd heard, those heart beats resounding from. There was no one, there. In fact, from what he could see, hear, and sense, there was no one anywhere within the off-limit area.

His optics narrowing further, he turned away, beginning to pick his way through the wreckage. _What a waste of -_

_Wait._ He stopped and glanced over his shoulder at the fence.

The pattern of the mesh was broken.

Unable to believe it himself at first, he approached the wire barrier, his optic ridges raised. When he reached it, he pressed his thumb against the fence's bottom, where the pattern was off. It bent easily beneath his finger, revealing a slit in the mesh.

A slit big enough to allow human sparklings an escape.

_Slag! I knew it!_

_

* * *

_

Optimus Prime watched, the worry evident on his face, as two uniformed police officers packed Derek Indo and Richard Whyler into a waiting cruiser. Both of the boys looked no better than when they'd arrived; their bloodied scratches had dried to a dull maroon, but bruises were just beginning to bloom against their skin. They wore identical expressions of pain, fright, and exhaustion, and as the officers settled themselves into the front seats, ready to take the two teenagers home, Richie glanced out of his window. He met Optimus's optics, winced, and dropped his tired eyes almost immediately, shame and fear causing a blush to redden his cheeks.

The cruiser's engine roared to life, and it pulled away from the Autobot's base, its teenage occupants nothing more than dim silhouettes against the protective glass.

Optimus's optics dimmed, and he rubbed the back of his head, a worried gesture he had acquired from Ratchet. _I've never met two human beings who were so scared of me,_ he thought absently.

Beside him, the other Autobots were quiet as they watched the police cruiser begin its return to Mission City. Bumblebee, Mikaela cupped in his left hand, glanced up at Optimus Prime. He moved closer to him and rested his free hand against his arm companionably. At the same time, the Autobot leader heard Sam sigh, felt him as he gently patted the side of his helm. The unconscious efforts to comfort him gradually began to take away his edge. He relaxed.

A small cloud burst from Will's lips as he let out a soft breath, gripping the shards of machinery that made up Jazz's shoulder, where he was sitting. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. "Ironhide's back!"

The Topkick in question roared down the desert road, dust riding up behind it in a muggy cloud. Its headlights flickered as it bounced over the rough, rocky surface, quickly making its way toward them.

Finally, its tires screeched at the sudden press of its brake, and even before Ironhide came to a full stop, he transformed out of his alternate form. His gears shrieked and shifted, and in seconds, he was standing at his full, though short, height before them.

There were no human beings with him.

Optimus Prime took a step forward. "I assume that you did not find the children who were mentioned."

"No," Ironhide replied, trying to maintain his gruff exterior though he was unable to do so; it broke, revealing the exhausted agitation beneath. "At first, I did not believe that they had been there at all. Then I noticed that there was something wrong with the section of fence I fixed. The pattern of the mesh was broken. It had been sliced open in order to provide a quick escape, and then set back so it would not be noticed."

"They got away," Will said softly, incredulous. "But that means - "

"They must have been in area while I was there, yes," Ironhide finished.

"Why didn't they ask for help?" Sam asked, confused. "They must have known you're an Autobot. Everyone does."

"They were scared of me," he replied in an absent tone, as though the answer was an obvious one. "Scared of _all_ of us. As most humans, with a few isolated exceptions, tend to be."

Before any uncomfortable silences could prevail, Bumblebee glanced around, trying his best to sound positive. "Well, at least they were able to escape. That means that they are not fatally wounded or, y'know. Dead."

"There was blood, on the concrete, the fence itself, the sidewalk. They may have been able to climb up the embankment, but they are still wounded," Ironhide explained. Bumblebee's door wings drooped in despair. Beside him, Optimus Prime settled a comforting hand on the Camaro's shoulder.

"I'll find 'em," Will stated, trying in vain to monkey down Jazz; the tiny Autobot cupped him in his hands and set him on the ground before he could slip and hurt himself. The army captain thanked him quickly and then glanced up at Optimus Prime. "I'll find 'em, or I'll try. It might take some time. I doubt I'll be able to find them tonight unless they go to the police or the hospital."

"Why wouldn't they?" Sam asked, cracking a yawn mid-sentence. Optimus Prime wordlessly tucked his fingers around the teenager's waist and set him beside Will. Bumblebee placed Mikaela between them.

Will turned to face him, giving him a shrug. "Who knows what their mindset is? They might think that they're going to be in trouble for going in there no matter what the reason, as well as for avoiding Ironhide when they obviously needed help."

Sam frowned. "Oh."

"In any event, this case is strictly human business," Will continued. "The Autobots shouldn't be involved, and I'll probably get my ass handed to me when the Secretary of Defense finds out that I brought Derek and Richie here first for a little interrogation, but I'll deal with that when the time comes." He shrugged. "Honestly, though, I'm not sure whether I'll be trusted enough with Antonia's, Zach's, and Tyler's addresses, or any other information about them. The police will most likely take this entire situation into their own hands and do everything possible to keep me out of it."

"They do not wish for our interference," Optimus Prime said softly.

"Yeah." The soldier sighed. "If there aren't any hidden factors that we're missing, you will probably never even see these kids' faces."

"I thought so, " Optimus replied reluctantly. Bending at the knees, he focused his gaze on Will's face. "I wish you the best of luck in finding them, and I hope that they are all right."

"I do too," he responded. He then jogged back to Jazz's side, where he had placed a thick black bag containing personal papers about the Autobots, his army uniform, and his laptop, among other things. Glancing up at Ironhide, he grinned and slipped the bag's strap over his shoulder. "Come on, buddy. Let's get back to - "

"No," Optimus Prime interrupted, shaking his head. "Not Ironhide."

The bulky mech and his charge exchanged a glance before turning to face Optimus, both of them looking equally disappointed. "But - "

"You need to recharge," Ratchet instructed, eying the gray Topkick carefully. "You can barely keep your optics lit."

Optimus Prime nodded in agreement. "Take Jazz with you instead, and both of you, be careful. Please."

Ironhide's shoulders slumped as he watched Jazz step forward to transform. Will watched as well, his eyes locked on Jazz's grinding, shifting gears, his expression one of quiet disappointment. After a moment, he rested his hand against Ironhide's thick ankle. The mech looked down at his companion, his reluctance prominent on his face. Will, however, smiled.

"Get some sleep," he advised. "You need it."

Ironhide nodded, and companionably nudged the back of Will's head with his thumb. "I will see you tomorrow...?" he asked, one optic ridge cocked in question.

"Of course you will. You know that."

"Yes, I do," the Autobot agreed, his dim optics glowing weakly as they followed the young man's jog toward Jazz, fully transformed in his sleek, tiny alternate form. When Will's hand shot out of the driver's window in a wave, Ironhide smiled slightly and tipped a hand in farewell.

Jazz swerved away from the Autobot's base, situated between the location of their final battle and the small town of Tranquility, and down the desert road. In the distance, Mission City itself twinkled with light, settled against the dark horizon in a blocky silhouette that was shaped like a puzzle piece. In the opposite direction, the lights of Tranquility were fewer, though they shone just as brightly.

"It is time for you two to leave as well," Optimus Prime said. Sam and Mikaela turned, looking up at him. The tall Autobot bent at his knees again. "We have kept you here too long."

"We wanted to see what was happening," Sam replied loftily, shrugging. His hand was intertwined with Mikaela's, and she was resting her head against his shoulder, dark circles beneath her eyes. "Besides, I called my parents. They know that I'm going to be late."

"Well, as far as we know, this situation is out of our hands." They both nodded.

Optimus Prime stood up once again. "Let Bumblebee drive you home."

"All right," Sam responded. In the soft darkness, he grinned. "Good night, Optimus. It was really nice seeing you again." Beside him, Mikaela nodded in silent agreement.

He ducked his head, flattered. "It was wonderful seeing you both as well."

Sam and Mikaela, their hands still intertwined, turned toward Bumblebee; the Autobot had transformed and pulled up alongside them. After calling out good night's to Ironhide, Ratchet, and Optimus Prime once again, they climbed in.

As the Camaro pulled away from the base and headed in the direction of Tranquility, Ratchet placed his hands on Ironhide's shoulders and pushed the sleepy mech toward the entrance.

"Go, go, go, before you offline out here! If you do, there is no way that I am carrying your heavy aft back in. You can spend all night on the ground for all I care," the medic threatened.

Ironhide came easily enough, stumbling through the gargantuan doorway. He yawned widely, a knee-jerk gesture rather than a natural one. "I am so glad to know that you love me, Doc," he muttered. Their voices drifted away as they wandered inside of the base and down the hallway, out of sight.

Alone, Optimus Prime tucked his long legs carefully beneath him and rested his head in his hands, his optics locked on Tranquility's tiny, bright lights.

He waited for Bumblebee to return home.


	10. Chapter X

**Spitfire**

_Chapter X_

Unconsciousness rolled in and rolled out, ebbed and throbbed in waves of varying shades of gray, ones that reminded her of some shadow ocean's tide during a strong storm.

Her pain had diminished, the mechanical leeches full and satisfied with their stolen life, but unconsciousness was worse than pain. Pain had let her know that she was still alive; hurting and aching, but alive. The unconsciousness, the darkness; it could be a coma. It could be Purgatory. It could be, for all she knew, Hell. It could be something even worse, some nothingness beyond all comprehension of thought, but she was still _there_ enough to force herself to believe that it wasn't.

Besides, she was hearing voices.

Just as she was still _there_ enough to force herself to believe that she wasn't trapped in an alternate universe where nothing but her mental self existed, she was also still _there_ enough to believe that the voices she was hearing, clashes from the past, present, and perhaps some unknown future as well, were not a result of insanity brought on by unconsciousness. The voices were real; she was hearing actual voices and not garbled babblings of a softened mind, though the voices themselves were nothing more than memories and thoughts. She heard them well enough to know this even though many sounded as though they were coming through the static of a failing radio connection.

Because she had nothing else to do but drift in the ocean of infinite darkness, waiting for some sort of physical life raft, some grasping hand from reality, she listened. Some of the voices she could place, others she could not. But, as she listened, she came to the realization that they all meant something. Maybe not at that moment, maybe they had, or they would, eventually. They did, however, all mean something to her at some point.

What that something was, she did not know.

A voice she heard continuously, too deep to be that of a human being's, was authoritative, but not frightening. Whenever she heard it, a shiver of relief passed through her for reasons she couldn't quite place. It sounded like a voice belonging to someone who could be trusted, and it ran through her thoughts with a consistency that gave the impression that whoever the voice belonged to was important.

_He_ was important.

_Freedom is the right to all sentient beings._  
_Sam, I owe you my life. We are in your debt._  
_They deserve to CHOOSE for THEMSELVES!_

_One shall stand, one shall fall..._

More voices zipped through her mind, ones that she connected to the repeated, deep voice because, although they had alternating degrees of pitch, they resembled each other. The voices had an accent to them, a certain buzz in the background, that reminded her of technological things.

_Sam, we will protect you!_  
_Keep moving Sam, don't stop!_  
_It's Megatron, move, retreat, take cover!_

_I would like to stay with the boy…_

(_Megatron…Sam? I've heard of _them_, but...no, it can't be..._)

Before she could continue this thought, the strange voices died away. They were replaced by a jumble of purely human noises, those of a man's, a boy's, a girl's, hoarse voices stricken with panic, loud and loose, uncontrolled and afraid.

_No no no no no NO NO!_  
_RETREAT, FALL BACK!_  
_Listen to me, you're a soldier now!_  
_All right, I need you to take this Cube, get it into military hands while we hold them off, or a lot of people are gonna die!_  
_I'M NOT GOING TO LEAVE YOU!_  
_- No, you need to get out, need to -_  
_I'm not leaving without -_  
_No sacrifice, no victory._  
_I'm never giving you this All Spark!_

_No matter what happens, I'm really glad I got in that car with you-u-u-u..._

Suddenly, an explosive, angry roar overrode it all, and as it resounded through the confines of her mind, she let out a shriek, her own hysteria mixing with the snarling tones that threatened to send her reeling completely.

_I smell you, boy -_  
_GIVE ME THE CUBE, MAGGOT!_  
_HUMANS DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE!_  
_YOU WILL DIE WITH THEM, JOIN THEM IN EXTINCTION!_  
_You may live to be my pet…_

_Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?_

Sobbing, screaming, swinging her aching head and blind eyes back and forth as the tears trickled down her cheeks, Antonia pushed herself away, away from the voices, those horrible threats, the memories of events she hadn't been a part of. She pushed herself away, tumbling into the obsidian stone of her shadowed ocean, drowning herself in whatever silent solace she could find. _A__nything_ was better than hearing that voice. That voice, so unlike the ones she had heard before, so filled with hate, with anger and mockery. With revenge.

Before she plunged into darkness deeper than unconsciousness, bordering the lines of a coma's sleep, she heard one other voice.

It was not human.

Antonia screamed as it rang in her ears like a bell, obnoxious and sickening in its dishonesty, a dishonesty she could not comprehend, but could _feel_.

_I live to serve you, Lord Megatron._

_I live..._

With one last grateful tumble, she plunged through her unconscious ocean, down, down, down, drowning in it, feeling the silence seep into her bones, feeling the soft beat of her heart, her tiny mechanical (_friends?_) infections throbbing along to its rhythm. For the first time since she had fallen into the ocean, she realized that they lit up the surrounding darkness like summer's fireflies.

Even as she hit the ocean's bottom, she continued down.

* * *

A scene played out in her head, its sequence as grainy and as faded as one recorded on an old, unfurling film reel. Despite its quality, the memory comforted her, allowed her muscles to relax and her fists to loosen. This was something that was _her's_, a carefully recorded piece of _her_ life.

It was what _she_ remembered.

_Her father, Eliazar, a muscular, handsome man with big hands, rough palms. He was swinging her around and around; her, a tiny girl with a gap-toothed smile and uneven pigtails. Tornado, he called their game._

_All she screamed, with delight and just the slightest fraction of fear, was "MORE! FASTER!" Her father laughed aloud, corkscrews of his black hair flying in his face, the setting sun illuminating his strong features._ _He smiled at her, revealing twin lines of white teeth set against olive skin._

_"Andale, chickita?"_

_"SI, PAPA! ANDALE!"_

_You were a liar, _she heard herself say, think; a small, destructive piranha-thought with its teeth bared at the image of her father. _You _are_ a liar._

The sudden observation surprised her, made her uncomfortable. She quickly forced herself to forget it, and to, instead, remember something else.

So she remembered what she'd left as a baby: a small, adobe house by the coast, running barefoot through their tiny town, watching the sun rise and set against the silhouettes of long-leafed palm trees. She'd left it with her mother, her father, and her grandmother to become _Americanos_. She remembered having papers stating that it was so.

She remembered arriving at their new home and immediately noticing how many lights America had, set protectively against the shadows and against the darkness.

_"Are these people afraid of the dark?"_ she had asked her father, and he had laughed. But he hadn't answered.

The memory of her mother's face replaced the memory of her father.

_Her long hair tied in a loose ponytail and thrown over one shoulder, Pilar's head was bent over her's, their foreheads nearly touching. She could hear herself whimpering, a little girl's noise. She had awakened from a bad dream, had called for her Mama, and her Mama had come to send her back, to help her sleep._

_Pilar's big eyes, ovals of purple exhaustion ringing them like bruises (_were they bruises was it because of Daddy?), _were heavily lashed, and the lashes nearly brushed her cheeks as she blinked sleepily, and yawned._

_After a moment, her mother began to sing, her voice smooth and sweet. Tentatively, Antonia listened._

"_...My sunshine, my only sunshine.__  
__You make me happy, when skies are gray.__  
__You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.__  
__So, please don't take my sunshine away..."_

Antonia saw the image waver, as though someone had thrown a pebble into a puddle. Her mother's voice dispersed into the infinity of the ocean beneath her ocean, and the shadows ate it, relished in it, that beautiful fragment of reality.

She blinked as the memory gradually disappeared, the descent of her lids so slow and careful that it seemed to take an eternity just to open her eyes. When she finally did, she let out a soft sob. _Mama..._

Her father was gone. Her mother was gone. The voices were gone. The darkness was gone.

The sun was rising.


	11. Chapter XI

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XI_

Tyler frowned. "She's thrashing again."

"I don't know what you want me to do!" Zachary cried in exasperation. "I'm a junior medical assistant, not a miracle worker, not a professional doctor, not even a freakin' veterinarian! A _junior medical_ _assistant_, and _as_ a junior medical assistant, I've done what I can to help her."

The senior remained unperturbed. "Hasn't it crossed your mind that maybe she's dying?"

"...Well, yeah, but - "

"We should bring her to the hospital."

Zach shook his head, his frown mirroring Tyler's own. "You know we can't do that."

"No. _We_ can. _You_ just don't want to."

"I don't want to because once she's out of our hands and into theirs, anything can happen to her! If we bring her to the hospital now, we may never see her, alive or otherwise, ever again!"

There was silence for a moment, before, tentatively, Zach continued. "I can't stand the thought of her becoming some laboratory rat, Tyler," he said miserably.

"Yeah, well, I can't stand the thought of her dying on us when she could have been saved," Tyler replied, scowling. His head felt heavy, bloated; his and Zach's argument and Antonia's condition were only deepening his discomfort, making him short-tempered. _Stupid pills... _he thought to himself restlessly. _Why aren't they working?_

Zach sighed. "Just another few minutes, all right? Another hour. If she doesn't wake up by eleven, we'll...we'll bring her."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes. I promise." With that, Zachary sighed again, turning to face the computer screen. Tyler, his feeling of satisfaction disappointingly fleeting, flopped onto Zach's bedspread with a groan.

They had arrived at Zachary's house almost an hour before, darting from beneath the glow of the street lights to stumble across the front lawn, cursing and snickering amidst the shadows. Night had descended completely by then, and Tyler had found it odd that there were no lights on in the house. He thought that perhaps Zach's parents had already fallen asleep, and felt the first little wisps of worry about being caught. Then he remembered:

_"...They won't be there."_  
_"Huh? Why?"_  
_"They never are."_

Zach had punched in a security code when they had arrived at the back door, which was set between two huge, roll-up garage gates. A tiny green light had switched on with recognition of the code, and the thick, wooden door had opened up before them, the silence seeping from within strong enough for him to conclude that the house was, in fact, empty.

He had shivered, even as the long hallway leading inside lit up with tiny, round globes every three feet or so, illuminating the contrasting black walls and pure, white rug that lined the floor. He had shivered because the silence was so intense, so complete, the house empty of noise besides the soft scuffle of their feet and the tiny clicks the lights made throughout the house as lamps switched on with their arrival. It was nothing like his own home, which was always loud and rambunctious with his younger brothers' and sister's voices constantly chattering away, his father's booming laughter and his mother's soft humming.

_Zachary has to live with this silence every day, every night,_ he had thought as they had stepped inside, the door locking behind them. Another tremble had wracked his body as he had frowned. Although his home could be, at times, uncomfortably crowded, he preferred the familiar noises of his family much more than he did the heavy silence.

Zach's house, he had learned quickly, was enormous. The doors of the back hall belonged to two guest bedrooms, dark and empty, and the hallway itself opened into the kitchen, a large, rectangular room equipped with only the latest in culinary technology and decorated with an artistic flair. Their feet had made hollowed sounds against the kitchen's black tile, so loud in the utter silence that both he and Zachary had jumped with surprise.

The kitchen gave way to a living room as well as to another hallway that ran perpendicular to it, behind the living room. This was the hallway they had gone down, and although Tyler had only been given a glance at the other room, he had seen enough to make his eyes widen. It was just as modern and as up-to-date in both fashion and technology as the kitchen was.

The side hallway they had wandered down was identical to the back hallway: black walls, white rug, bulbs every few steps. However, at the end of this hallway was a winding staircase, one that led to a second floor as well as to a third. They had continued up to the third, Zachary leading the way and Tyler following close behind with Antonia curled against his chest. The stairs had been a bit of trouble for him, but he had just grasped the railing and heaved himself up, his lips pressed against the pain.

Finally, they had made it to Zachary's bedroom. It was a wide strip along the southern side of the house, facing Mission City. Two glass doors led to a balcony outside, giving an incredible view of the city's skyline. Attached to the balcony's railing was an intricate telescope, its glass eye facing the star-spattered sky.

Everything in the bedroom was colored some variation of blue. Dark blue carpeting, light blue bedspread, the walls and ceiling the hue of a bruise; even the bulbs of his square lights, one of each side of the room, were blue. Just as with the rest of the house, each piece of furniture, every tiny design, was modern, carefully thought-out.

From what Zachary had explained to him so far, although in this case, he didn't need much of an explanation, his parents made a lot of money.

_"They're doctors,"_ he had explained, calling to Tyler over the roar of running water as well as the thick barrier of the closed bathroom door; Tyler had been cleaning himself up. _"That's why they're gone more often than not. They've always got something else to do, something important…someone's life to save."_

_"What kind of doctors are they?"_ Tyler had asked absently, hissing as the blood dripped down his face in pinkish runs, the cold water stinging his dirty scratches.

_"Brain surgeons,"_ Zach had replied casually, as though the announcement wasn't anything extraordinary.

He had then gone on to explain that, because his parents were determined that he follow in their footsteps to at least some extent, he had been placed in a program that allowed him to experience what it was like to be a doctor, earning him the title of junior medical assistant. And as a junior medical assistant, he had promised that he knew exactly how to set a break, had known how to since the 5th grade. Tyler, upon hearing this, had trusted him.

_It won't hurt a bit!_ Zach had said.

To his credit, Zachary knew how to set a leg. But the junior medical _doofus_ had lied through his teeth about it hurting. Although Tyler had not screamed, as that would have been too embarrassing, he had certainly let a colorful list of vocabulary words be known to Zach's innocent sophomore ears, and had refused to sit still as Zachary had attempted to wrap his leg up.

His fingers gripping and kneading handfuls of Zach's bedspread, Tyler closed his eyes tightly against the desire to itch the very leg that Zach had, in spite of his vengeful fidgeting, managed to encase in a thick layer of ace bandage.

_Junior medical assistant, my ass,_ he thought to himself, grimacing. _He's a quack, a lying quack. That's what all doctors are, anyway. Quack, quack, quack. Stick feathers on their asses because they're ducks. Loonies. He lied, he promised it wouldn't hurt, and whatta surprise. It hurt like a muthafuddah._

With sluggish suspicion, Tyler began to believe that the pills Zach had given him were of the heavy-duty variety, the kind of medication that would run his mind ragged before shutting his body down for a handful of blessed hours. Although he did not know why, this realization struck him as hilarious. He giggled grudgingly.

"H-hey...?"

The softly spoken word snagged his attention, and he blinked once, slowly, as his eyes attempted to focus on who had spoken. It was a girl, small, but pretty, that the hoarse voice belonged to; she had pushed herself into a sitting position beside him, her arms trembling with exhaustion. She had black hair, olive skin, wide, caramel eyes, and an expression on her face that made her look a little wild, a little out of it.

As he observed her, a stray thought squirmed its way into his mind:_ Maybe we hooked up. _ Tyler frowned. If that was the case, he hoped he had worn a condom, because how many times had his mother told him she didn't want anyone popping out _his_ babies, not at _his_ age?

He squinted his eyes, searching her expression absently. The idea that he _knew _her began to form solidly within his brain, but he found that he could not remember her name. _Is it -_

"Antonia!" Zachary cried, swiveling around in his chair. He nearly spilled to the floor, both of his arms flailing like a frightened bird's as he attempted to keep his balance.

"Zach!" The pretty girl glanced over her shoulder at him, looking exhausted and yet completely awake, electrified. Her chest was rising and falling in an uneven rhythm.

"_THAT'S_ your name!" Tyler hiccupped drunkenly. He waggled a finger at his friends, one eyebrow raised as though he had caught on to something the two of them had been attempting to keep from him. "I…I couldn't remember it at first, but now I…I guess I…Well…Hm." He suddenly leaned forward, planting his hands on his knees and observing his audience with dazed, quizzical eyes. "Did I wear a condom?"

Antonia and Zach stared at him for a moment, silent, confused, and amused, before turning to each other once again.

"What are you - "

"Why is he - ?"

"Wait, just - "

"No, I want to know - "

Sprawling backward across the bed spread, Tyler laughed clownishly, his head swimming as he attempted to kick his feet with delight. Their stuttered questions struck him as hysterical, somehow _more_ hysterical than his earlier realization had been; his laughter became a fit of snickers, snorts, and gurgles.

Zachary ignored Tyler as best as he could, his eyes focused intently on Antonia. "Just let me explain everything first, all right?"

"...Yeah, sure...Yeah...I've got a few things to explain myself, but - "

Tyler interrupted with a few more airy giggles, hiccups punctuating each one like a period.

From where she sat, Antonia stared between Zach and Tyler, trying desperately to piece together what was wrong. Zach avoided her gaze and rubbed the back of his head, his lips pressed together as he forced himself not to smile.

"Maybe I overestimated my ability to administer drugs," he mumbled quietly.

Antonia raised an eyebrow. "What was your first clue?"

* * *

"Wow. I can't believe - _OW!_"

"Ah, God, I'm so sorry!"

"It's all right." She sighed, knuckling pained tears from her eyes before continuing. "…I can't believe Tyler came back."

"Yeah. Neither could I." Both Antonia and Zach turned to stare at the senior, who had stopped his mindless, medication-induced babblings almost five minutes after he had started. He had since fallen into a heavy sleep, a soft snore blowing through his scratched nose. It was a comfortable noise, a nice one that rose above the silence of the house.

"He's a sweet guy," Zach said quietly. "He really is."

"Yeah, I guess he must be. I'll have to see more of him, though." She laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound that made Zach blush. "I've only seen the high side of him."

"That's completely my fault. I, you know, I overestimated his weight, gave him a bit more than he needed..."

"Eh, everyone makes mistakes." She shrugged. "He'll understand. Either that, or he just won't remember."

Zach nodded, continuing to clean up Antonia's wounds with a damp wash cloth, allowing a silence to settle between them. He was grateful that she did not attempt to break the quiet with random chit-chat; he didn't have the energy or the desire to send such pointless comments back and forth in a desperate attempt to break the lull in their conversation. It was not as though the lull needed to be broken, anyway. He felt surprisingly comfortable, sitting with her, washing the dried blood and caked grime from her arms, Tyler's snores and their own breathing the only noises that could be heard. He shouldn't feel comfortable; he knew and understood that well. Yet he did, and for the moment, he was too tired to question it.

An undeterminable amount of time had passed before he heard the soft, dismissible _click_.

He stopped cleaning Antonia, the rag slipping from his fingers and falling with a wet plop against the carpeted floor. Antonia jumped, the unexpected noise snapping her from the semi-doze she had fallen into. She leaned forward to pick it up, but stopped upon seeing Zach's expression, her eyes widening with confusion. His face had gone a pale white, his bruised eye a blotch of purple shadow, his lips pressed into a fine line.

In his sleep, Tyler murmured, shifting uncomfortably. His eyebrows narrowed.

"Oh, no," Zach whispered. He was trembling. "Not now..."

Downstairs, the front door opened and a voice called out. It echoed loudly through the empty house.

"Zachary? I'm home, son."


	12. Chapter XII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XII_

"My father is going to _castrate_ me if he finds either of you in here!"

"I don't know what that word means," Tyler muttered, fighting to stay upright. Having been suddenly shaken awake had left him momentarily dazed and uncomprehending. His broken left leg, clad in its thick bandage, was tucked behind him at an odd angle in an attempt to keep from hurting it further. "Right now, I don't really know what _anything_ means."

Zachary didn't respond. He glanced back and forth between Antonia and Tyler at a quick, disconnected pace, before settling his gaze firmly on her. He gripped her by the shoulders, his fingers brushing the shards implanted in her upper back and shoulder blades. "I need you to do me a huge favor."

She nodded jerkily beneath his fevered stare, feeling like a puppet on a string. "Yeah, whatever you need."

"Actually, more like a few huge favors."

Downstairs, his father entered the kitchen, and there was the soft yet oddly noticeable noise as he casually threw his coat over one of the kitchen's chairs. He was whistling.

Antonia trembled beneath Zach's touch; her heart hadn't stopped its panicked gallop. "Yeah, sure," she sputtered. "Anything."

Zachary nodded, more to himself than to her. He looked her up and down, studying her in a way that made her blush though it obviously wasn't his intent. His mind, the emotions and thoughts visible in his single, unbruised eye, seemed to be a million miles away, no longer entirely focused on her.

"One." He held up a single finger. "I need you to get Tyler home safely. I'm afraid he might get hit by a car if I let him loose on his own. He still isn't completely in his right of mind yet."

"I'm _fine_," Tyler mumbled groggily.

Despite his reassurance, Antonia nodded at Zach once again. "Yeah, I can - "

"Two. I need you to...to somehow shut the All Spark shards off - "

"W-wait, _what_? These...They...These _aren't _the All Spark - "

"Three - "

"Zach, I'm telling you that - "

He silenced her by pressing the pad of his thumb to her lips. Her blush brightened beneath his touch, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I was hoping I'd have more time to explain this...I just...I need you to understand something, Antonia." His eyes, his gaze intense and bright, were locked on her's. "While you were unconsciousness, I was researching the All Spark. From the information I was able to find, these..." He snatched his hand away from her shoulder and instead tightened his fingers around her forearm, giving it a rough shake. "These..._things _inside of you? They _are_ what remain of the All Spark, and you are their energy source now. They need you to live." The emotions in his eyes, the thoughts, were no longer worried about his father. They revolved around her, and she had never seen such an expression of fright, of utter terror, than what she seeing on Zachary's pale, freckled face.

His fright scared her. More than anything else that had happened so far, it scared her.

He continued. "Antonia. The Autobot and Decepticon war was based on their hatred for one another and their desire for power. The source of power for both the Autobots and the Deceptions is _this_, the All Spark, which you have inside of you." He began to tremble, and he rested his forehead against hers, trying to fight the panic he had been experiencing ever since he had first found out the information. The panic hadn't been as bad then because he had been expecting to stay with her and with Tyler for the rest of night, perhaps longer. Now their time was cut short, and he had to explain everything to her in less than five minutes.

_Not only that, but I have to let her go out on her own,_ he thought, swallowing hard. _I have to let them both go._

He was more frightened of being alone, without them, than anything else. In the short amount of time they had spent together, they had become closer to each other than he had thought possible. This secret, it bound them together.

Their situation was bigger than he had ever imagined.

"If the Autobots sense you, they will come after you because you hold the key to their survival. I pray to God that they will protect you and your best interests, but...but I don't know, Antonia. I just don't know..." He let out a frightened sob, and as he did so, he felt a strong hand clasp on his shoulder.

Zach glanced up at the Tyler, whose face was tired and agonized, yet comprehending. The confusion had disappeared, leaving his thoughts unconstrained. He was listening well.

Tyler then slipped his free arm around Antonia's waist, and she completed their connection, their triangle, by placing one small, trembling hand on Zach's back and wrapping her other arm around Tyler's neck. They bowed their heads together, forming a tight huddle.

Zach let out a soft sigh of relief before continuing, his voice a low whisper. "The Decepticons..._They're_ the monsters. They won't protect you. They'll protect the All Spark, but use you however they want to. You can't let them get to you." His voice hoarsened. "You _can't_."

Antonia let out a small squeak, remembering that horrible, twisted, mechanical snarl that had echoed through her mind with the ferocity of a tiger's roar: _Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?_ The memory of that voice, that mocking question, rose to the surface for a moment, bright and frightening, before fading away.

The worst of her fear faded with it as Tyler's arm tightened around her and Zach's fingers gently gripped her hand with his own.

"Last but not least, we have the humans: the government. You can't let them get a hold of you either, Antonia. From the news reports I've read, they've been bugging the Autobots, Optimus Prime especially, for permission to inspect them, to gather ideas for technological warfare. The Autobots won't give access to this information, not if it's to be used to destroy other humans, and of course, this has pissed the government off. But..." Zach bit his bottom lip. "If they found out about _you_, they'd have no need for the Autobots. They'd just create new transformer life using you and the All Spark. Robotic soldiers."

"Shit," Tyler croaked. "We can't trust _any_one. Are we screwed no matter what we do?"

Zachary sighed. "Our safest bet would be to get to the Autobots, but I'd prefer it if you allowed me to do a little more research before they found out about you, Antonia."

Downstairs, his father began to pad up the carpeted steps, still whistling to himself.

He paused midway. "...Zach? You home, bud?"

His heart beating frantically within his chest, Zach quickly locked his arms around their necks and maneuvered them toward one of the balcony's glass doors. "Keep this from your parents, your siblings, your friends: _everyone_. Do whatever it takes to keep this a secret. Tomorrow," he whispered, opening the door for them, "first thing in the morning, meet me in the front of the school. Antonia, I know you're suspended, but you can still hang around outside." He glanced at the crippled senior. "We're playing hooky, Ty, if you don't mind."

"Hell no."

"All right. It's settled. Keep everything to yourselves. Say nothing. Be safe, and Antonia, please try to shut those things off, if you can."

"...How?"

"Will them, force them, whatever. They're a part of you now, so experiment. You have time, because I'm pretty sure none of us are going to sleep well tonight."

He stared hard at his newest friends from where he stood in the balcony's doorway. Their silhouettes barely visible amidst the shadows of the late hour, Antonia and Tyler seemed small, insignificant.

"There's a ladder down in the farthest corner of the balcony," Zach murmured. As she and Tyler turned toward it, he called out after them: "Please be careful!" After a momentary pause, "I'll be thinking of you both tonight."

Slowly, reluctantly, he shut the door.

* * *

"This is big."

They stood outside of her apartment, two hardly distinguishable shadows pressed against a backdrop of late-night black. The street light closest to them had fizzled out, casting them into complete darkness. The street itself was deathly quiet; everyone was tucked into bed, asleep. The only noises that could be heard were from down the road, around the corner, where the intersection of Main and Center never fell silent. Antonia could imagine The Crater's flashing neon lights, cigarette smoke floating in a thick mist around the dancers as they shook to whatever beat played, the midnight crowd settled in its tattered booths and around the bar. Granted, the age of The Crater's visitors had changed in the past few hours and the dry bar had officially become wet, but other than that, it was still just as obnoxiously loud as a city club could be.

She stared at Tyler's face, trying as hard as she could to pick out his features through the night's lack of light. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't distinguish his expression. She couldn't tell whether or not he was feeling as weak, as small, as she was. Whether he would lock his front door, his back door, all his windows, perhaps even his closet door tonight, just as she would, before he went to bed to lie, sleepless and awaiting the sun. Unfortunately, no wooden doors, no brass locks, could stop a huge, mechanical monster when it has found something it not only wants, but needs.

_As he walks home tonight...will he glance over his shoulder every few steps? Will he, Tyler Eller, a Mission City High Linebacker, the biggest and strongest of the football team's players...will he run home like a frightened little boy?_ Antonia thought. She had a feeling that there was a good chance he would, and unsurprisingly, she did not blame him for it.

For a moment, she felt a dark sort of envy for her newest companion: _At least he doesn't have to hear strangers screaming in _his_ thoughts tonight._ It was gone in the blink of an eye.

It was replaced, unexpectedly, with a soft love, an adoration for the bulky senior with his cute cut of blond hair, his air-headed grin, his ability to vary between the two opposite ends of the intelligence spectrum almost at his own, oblivious whim, much to everyone else's amusement. In the darkness of the nearing midnight, she smiled, and it occurred to her that he was smiling back.

"Yeah...This is big," she agreed loftily. "But we'll be all right."

Tyler's smile widened, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, merely stared at each other in silence, peering through the dark. Yet, the silence, much like the one that had existed between her and Zachary earlier, was not uncomfortable. It seemed to emphasize their connection, to underscore the idea that she, Zach, and Tyler could exist, could be beside each other and understand one another without having to move, to speak, to do anything at all.

Even without Zachary's physical presence, their triangle, their role in whatever had been set into motion with Megatron's arrival on Earth millions upon millions of years ago, was made real, was carved into stone.

_Perhaps there is not three,_ a foreign voice whispered from the very back of her mind, unexpected and unknown. _Perhaps there are four._

_Four?_ Staring at Tyler's face, cast in heavy shadow, she frowned. _Who could be the fourth? Is it someone we know, someone I know? Is it a stranger?_

_...Where did that thought come from, anyway? Who said that?_

Before she could answer her own question, Tyler cocked his head at her and gave a low, swooping bow. Antonia looked on in confusion, wondering if she had missed something.

"M'lady," he crooned, his tone painted with a seamless Shakespearean accent. "The hour groweth late."

Her frown was gone in an instant, replaced with a small, amused smile. "The hour greweth late two hours ago, at ten thirty," she replied.

"Oh, excuse _me_. I was, at the time, _under the influence_," he said, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis.

Antonia giggled, and Tyler's teeth flashed against the darkness as he smiled. His playfulness, however, did not last long; the worry that replaced his humor was evident in his tone when he spoke again.

"You need to be careful tonight, all right?" he said softly.

Antonia's smile wavered as she reached out, intertwined her tiny fingers through his thicker ones, and squeezed.

"You don't need to tell me twice, _chico_," she replied.

They stood together, sharing the innocent touch of comfort and solace, before she let her hand drop away.

"Good night, Tyler," Antonia said softly. "Thanks for walking me home, even though it was supposed to be the other way around."

"No problem," he chuckled in reply, rubbing the back of his head again. "Good night, Antonia." _Sleep tight. Stay safe._

As she marched up the cement steps to the wooden door of her apartment, Tyler watched her, watched her until she was inside. She gave him one last glance over her shoulder before shutting her front door behind her. He stayed, waited, until he heard the lock click.

Then, Tyler Eller, his broken left leg slamming occasionally against the pavement, stumbled all the way home.

* * *

As soon as she was inside, Antonia broke down.

She pressed her shuddering back against the closed front door, pressed her hands to her cheeks, and covered her eyes as she began to weep. Harsh, frantic whimpers and wheezes erupted from her throat in torrents, and her eyes, their lids knit shut in terror and pain, seeped with salty tears. Her bottom lip trembled like a child's, her knees tented together to form the triangle she had thought was complete.

It didn't matter whether they had some sort of connection. Three could do nothing against those twisted, demonic voices she'd heard, and neither could four. Neither could ten, or twenty. Thirty, or forty. Fifty. One hundred.

It didn't matter whether they had some sort of connection, because, for tonight, she was alone. Perhaps she wouldn't even live past tonight, if these All Spark shards, bright as beacons, attracted anyone's attention. Someone would surely find her, sense her, by daybreak. It was just a matter of -

"...Antonia?"

_Who._ Antonia glanced up quickly, her wet eyes wide and surprised.

Pilar stood in her bedroom doorway directly down the front hall, her black hair pulled back into a messy, sleepy ponytail, her bedclothes wrinkled with rest. Her jaw was slack.

_Now your connection is complete,_ the omniscient, unknown voice from earlier stated complacently. _You are ready._

"Oh, Antonia..." Pilar whispered.

In her daughter's arms, the All Spark shards flickered and throbbed with light, with life. And she was reminded, strangely, of fireflies.


	13. Chapter XIII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XIII_

"I just...I _can't_..."

Antonia jerked, trying to twist herself to face her mother, a distraught whimper erupting from her throat. Pilar, however, gripped her shoulder and forced her to sit still. She finished, slowly and carefully, pulling the soft-bristle brush through Antonia's hair, then let it drop, wrapping her arms around her daughter's thin chest before she could wiggle away. Her forearms created a protective cross, pressing Antonia's back against her.

She could feel her daughter trembling with despair, the All Spark shards reacting to her broiling emotions, flickering on and off with an intensity that lit the entire bedroom in blue light.

"Listen to me, _chickita_. Please." Pilar rested her head against the back of Antonia's, twining her thin fingers through her smaller ones. She gripped them tightly. "I just can't wrap my mind around what you've explained. I _can't_. It's...silly science fiction, yet I don't understand why you would lie to me about such a thing. So...it must be the truth, no?" She let out a soft, humorless laugh, a frightened one. "At this point, I'd...I'd love it, _love _it, if you told me that this was some sort of strange reaction caused by drugs or drinking...Because then, I'd have an idea of what to do. I'd be able to help you in some way. But..."

_How do I fix this? How do I fix you?_

"I just...I don't know, Antonia. Are...Are you sure?" She gave her daughter's tiny fingers one more squeeze before letting her hands drop back to the bedspread.

Silence, pure and complete, greeted her cautious question. No cars raced down the road; The Crater's late night-early morning shift was coming to a close at the tough, dark hour of 3:00 AM, but its noises and music could not penetrate even the thin walls of their tiny apartment. There were no sounds to be heard, and so the silence spoke volumes.

Antonia shifted herself to stare at her mother. "You still do not believe me?" she questioned, her voice hoarse.

Pilar remained quiet, desperately attempting to keep her expression absent. She kept her head pressed against Antonia's, feeling disappointed and disgusted with herself for not being able to believe her daughter even when there was no other logical explanation. Even the explanation she had been given wasn't logical, not when she thought about it, but had anything on planet Earth been logical since the arrival of the first extraterrestrials human beings had come in contact with, ever?

Last summer, everything had changed.

But she wasn't willing to admit that they were now trapped within the changes, that wave of uncertainty, along with only a few select others. No. It just..._couldn't_ happen. Not to them. It just -

"Hey! Hey, where are you...?"

Antonia pulled away from her mother, pushing herself across the bed's thin coverlet and absently knocking the hair brush to the ground with one small foot as she did so. The olive tone of her skin gleamed prettily in the florescent light thrown by (_the All Spark shards_) those things in her arms, clean from the shower she had tentatively taken while explaining everything to Pilar.

Could it have only been an hour ago, sitting on the cool tile of their bathroom with the shower curtain between her and her daughter, that her life had changed? Had it changed at _all_? Was this just some sort of silly misunderstanding?

Antonia's voice was dim, trembling, when she finally spoke.

"Mama. You do not believe me, so I will just - " _You're their life source now, Antonia. They'd just create new Transformer life using you and the All Spark. Robotic soldiers._ " - have to prove it to you."

As Antonia walked out of the bedroom, looking so incredibly small in her child-sized pajamas, her short, shower-wet locks swinging back and forth, Pilar felt herself stiffen with shock.

_I will just have to prove it to you._

Her eyes widening with just the smallest fraction of fright and quite a bit more of curiosity, she nearly tripped over herself in her effort to chase after her daughter.

"Antonia!" she cried. "Wait for me!..._Antonia_!"

* * *

She could hear her mother padding after her in the hallway, could feel her heart begin to beat like a tribal drum. It was pounding so hard that it was painful.

Every five seconds, the tiny kitchen would brighten with blue light, intense and powerful.

_"You're their life source now,"_ Zachary had said. _"They'd just create new Transformer life using you and the All Spark. Robotic soldiers."_

_Could I?_ she thought, each breath a gasp. _Could I really?_

Could she prove to the one person she needed to believe her the most, out of everyone else, that she was infected with what remained of the All Spark? Could she?

_Robotic soldiers. Life. Energy._

_What if you can't do it?_ her thoughts mocked her, questioned her. _What then? How will she know for sure?_

She didn't have an answer to that. Yet, it wasn't the question that scared her the most.

_What are you going to do if you _can_ do it?_

A tiny television set, placed carefully in the counter's farthest corner where it could be seen from any place in the kitchen, was what caught her eye. As she moved toward it, the All Spark shards stopped their constant flickering. They stayed completely lit, bright and strong. Ready.

Her fingers reached out, brushed the television's cord. Taking the small set between her two hands, she closed her eyes.

Beneath her touch, it began to transform.

_Please believe me now._

* * *

_"So?" He smiled, his teeth perfectly aligned, his sharp features cast in shadow despite the bright overhead lights. Somehow, the lack of imperfections this man seemed to have bothered him. It bothered him a lot. Among other things. "What do you think?"_

_He tried to control the tremble that threatened to rupture him, a tremble born of anger, confusion, and disgust. What did he _think_?_

_"...You want to use us, our technology, to _cheat_?"_

_That smile, as charming as a shark's, faltered. "...Cheat? _Cheat_?" He leaned across the metallic table, his army cap nearly toppling from his head as he did so. Behind him, the line of human soldiers that had accompanied him to the Autobot base, for reasons unknown to the Autobots themselves, shifted uncomfortably._

_The man standing before him, the U.S Secretary of Defense Thomas Duke, let out a humorless cackle. "You, of all creatures! You believe that war is a _game_? A game you can _cheat_ at? You!...I can't - "_

_"You wish to use us as a way to gain the upper hand on the rest of your population. You wish to use our alien technology to aid you. I refuse to allow further study of our technology if that is your intent, and any warfare produced using the information already gathered is to be destroyed._

_"If you want to continue to bring ruin upon yourselves as well as your planet," a single tremble rippled through his body, the only one he couldn't hold back, "you will do so without our help. Your request is denied."_

_Duke's eyes zipped across his facial plate, uncomprehending and unbelieving at first. Gradually, however, his cheeks and forehead burned a bright angry red, and his smile, already fading, disappeared completely. It was replaced with a snarl, furious and defensive._

_"After all we've done for you! Sacrificing our men to aid in your goddamned war, making altercations to our plans to suit your own!" His hands turned into tight fists. "We're letting you stay on our planet, on American soil! We've sunk millions upon millions of dollars into funding for the items you've requested for your base! Do you even know how hypocritical and illogical you sound, spouting off to us about our own war when you're in one that - "_

_"We're keeping you, all of you, alive," he interrupted softly, his optics dimming with disappointment as he interrupted Duke's tirade. "Starscream, Barricade, and Scorponok have not appeared once since Megatron was defeated. Why do think that is, Secretary?"_

_Behind him, Ironhide grunted; Duke glared at the bulky mech, his fists tightening and loosening with barely-held back fury. Ironhide raised an optic ride before he spoke. "Pardon me, sir, but they are certainly not afraid of squishy, fragile creatures ten times smaller than they are."_

_Ignoring his weapon's specialist, Optimus continued, trying to keep the disgust, as well as the disappointment, out of his voice as he did so. "Thomas. I will not be responsible for any more human deaths, indirectly or otherwise, and I will not take sides with any country or nation. My loyalties belong to no one. The Autobots are neutral." He met the Secretary's frantic eyes. "I am sorry, but research is to be stopped immediately."_

_Duke merely stared at him, the bright red spots of temper fading from his face._

_"After all we've done for you..."_

His optics brightened, the dream, the memory, dying away almost as quickly as it had arrived. He moaned softly, the light of his optics driving back the shadows.

_Oh, can't you feel it?_

He sat up quickly, his fingers gripping the edge of his berth. _There is no way, no possible way that...it can't __be__..._

It was a spark he felt, new and bright and strong.

A sparkling had been born.


	14. Chapter XIV

**Spitfire**

_Chapter __XIV_

Pilar skittered to a stop, her socked feet slipping against the worn wooden floor. After a moment of panicked dancing in an attempt to keep from falling, she found her balance, her trembling fingers gripping the frame of the kitchen doorway. With loose locks of hair brushing her cheeks, she tentatively turned her face upward, her eyes wide and searching for her daughter.

"Antonia...?" she called in a whisper, her breath hitching. "Antonia...what in God's name just happened? Are you all right?"

When she wasn't given an answer, Pilar straightened up, absently brushing one hand through her hair and pulling it back into a loose ponytail. With her vision clear, she drew a shaky breath and carefully peeked around the door's frame and into their small kitchen.

In the dying light of the All Spark shards' explosion of power, she could see the vaguest outline of Antonia. Something blocky was clutched against her chest, her thin arms wrapped around it protectively.

Electricity zipping through the dusty air of the small room, she heard her daughter gasp as she stumbled backward against the Formica counter. Whatever she had been holding dropped from her grasp and tumbled to the floor, letting out an irritated grumble as it did so. As soon as Antonia hit the counter's stone top, she collapsed to the sunken tile and lay still, her chest rising and falling in painfully slow rhythm. What remained of the All Spark's light died completely, retreating back into the ancient shards, and 3:00 AM shadow quickly cast itself across the silent kitchen.

"Antonia!" Pilar whimpered, stepping through the door way and trying to find her daughter using nothing more than touch. Her fingers brushed against the smooth wood of their small, square table, felt along the humming, cool box of the refrigerator, touched the chilly metal of the stove. Just when she had nearly reached the crumpled figure of her daughter, her eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness, one socked foot touched the object that Antonia had dropped. As soon as her toes brushed it, it burst into life.

"An early good morning to you! I am George Olsen, and this is your local 24-Hour News Network. Our top stories today - "

Static interrupted the chipper voice of the news anchorman, as did a soft mechanical grinding as the tiny television pushed itself into a sitting position. It let out a low, robotic whine as it continued to transform, stretching itself as though it had awakened from a deep sleep.

The television speakers collapsed in on themselves and refolded to create the sides of a stout rectangular head. The plastic back of the television, exposed wires writhing like snakes, created the rest of what remained of the head. The tiny green lights that had once flanked the POWER button shifted upward to shine as bright eyes. The screen had become the tiny creature's chest, and the DirectTV box that had been attached to the top of the set moved downward, unfolding as it did so. It pushed itself against the set's bottom, a stout torso, and, with the rest of what had been behind the television screen, it created a pair of thick, bulky legs. Two flaps of casing winged out from the top of the screen, branching off into messes of wire, metal, and gears that formed arms and hands, five tiny fingers on each hand.

She watched, utterly incredulous, as the tiny creature turned itself to face her. Though she could see nothing more than its bright eyes, it gave the appearance that it was smiling.

Pilar drew back, her lips working themselves into a scream which she pillowed with her hands at the very last second. Snapping her stretched leg back against her like a rubber band, she lost her footing and thumped to the tiled floor, her hands still plastered against her mouth, her wide, frightened eyes nearly bulging from her face. Gasping and squeaking, gasping and squeaking, hot air rushed from between her trembling lips as she tried to control the scream that was still bubbling in her throat. Her eyes were beginning to ache from the blood that had rushed against them in frightened panic, and her vision wavered with salty tears.

"...Antonia..." Pilar managed weakly, her voice high. Carefully dropping her hand away from her mouth, she began to knuckle away the water forming in her thick lashes. _Please answer me, baby, _she thought desperately. Swallowing the scream in a painful gulp, she called out again in a whistle-tone: "Antonia..."

Her panic-stricken voice still echoing throughout the small kitchen, there was a soft sigh as Antonia finally responded, pushing herself into a straighter sitting position and giving her throbbing head a shake.

"I'm all right, Mama..." she answered woozily, blinking a few times as she became accustomed to the darkness. "Just...it was a bit of a shock, that's all. I'm..." She stopped.

From behind the kitchen table where she had fallen, Pilar could no longer see the tiny robotic creature. It had crawled away from her while she had been rubbing the tears from her eyes. Her heart and her head pounding hard, her breath coming in short gasps and occasionally wheezing up from her dried throat, Pilar crawled out from behind the square table, trying to peek through the chair's legs as she desperately searched for her daughter.

Maneuvering herself beneath the table, she squinted her eyes, and stiffened with surprise.

Before her, Antonia held the tiny creature in her lap. Its head rested against her thin chest and its two arms were wrapped loosely around her neck, its legs curled beneath it. It was purring, a strange, mechanical vibration that echoed throughout its chest cavity.

Antonia had one hand pressed against its square back, the other stroking the smooth curve of its tiny, helmeted head. Her lips were curled in a small smile, her eyes dancing with curiosity and amazement.

She turned her face up toward her mother, met her gaze. Her smile faltered. "Do you believe me now?" she asked. Her voice was tight with desperation. "Because, out of everyone else, I need you to believe me. Just you, Mama. No one else matters."

Pilar's sleep-bruised eyes searched her daughter's face, the pale pallor fading from her own. After a moment, she crossed the distance between them on her hands and knees and settled herself beside Antonia, tucking her legs beneath her. Reaching out to touch the creature's back, her gaze flickered up to Antonia's, who nodded for her to go on.

Her fingers gently brushed its smooth back, and beneath their tips, it continued to thrum.

"Yes," Pilar murmured softly. "I believe you."

* * *

They sat together on the living room couch, a table lamp chasing away the remains of the early morning shadow. Outside, filtering through the yellowed ends of the lace curtains, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. One by one, the stars were fading from view, disappearing amidst the brightening sky.

On the wall beside the kitchen doorway, a tiny wooden clock ticked away. Its big hand lay on the six, its small hand on the five.

She hadn't slept even a little since she had awoken to the sound of Antonia's weeping earlier that morning, despite promising her daughter that she would. Antonia, however, had had no trouble falling asleep; she was curled against her, her head resting beneath her chin. Pressed between her and Pilar, the tiny robot appeared to be sleeping as well. Its eyes had dimmed to the point where they were hardly even lit, and it had stopped moving. Its hand rested against Antonia's arm, its fingers tightened around her wrist.

_"What are we going to do with it?"_ Pilar had asked, her fingers still brushing its back.

_"We're going to keep him. What else would we do with him?" _Antonia had replied._ "He doesn't seem so bad. In fact...He's kinda cute, huh?"_

_"...He?"_

_"Yeah." _She had shrugged._ "I thought of a name for him, too. Telebot."_

She sighed softly, glancing at the clock again. 5:33 AM. Another hour before she would wake Antonia. The girl had been so exhausted. The hospital could wait another hour.

Just one.

_"Antonia...We've got to get you help."_

Her daughter hadn't responded to this, her head down, her expression hidden.

_"We've got to get you help, because...from what you've explained..." _Her hand had reached out, stroked Antonia's soft hair. She felt the tears, frightened and worried, biting at her eyes again._ "We're in a whole lot of trouble. A lot."_

Once again, she was given no reply. But Antonia was trembling.

Pilar bit her quivering bottom lip as she forced herself to continue._ "I need you to trust me, chicky. I need you to trust me to do the right thing for you now, to get you help, protection. I cannot protect you all by myself...not against something like this. But I can help you get the protection you need, so in return, you need to trust me. Please. I..._

_"I think I know what I'm doing."_

A small nod was all Pilar received as an answer.

She took a deep, trembling breath._ "Go to sleep for a little while, all right? In a few hours, I'll wake you up and drive you to the hospital. Okay?"_

Antonia didn't give an immediate yes or no; she had only stiffened, had seemed to think to herself. Then, she had turned her head to face her mother, had locked eyes with her._ "Okay."_

But something had seemed wrong, so wrong.

It was as though Antonia had been lying.

Pilar rested her head against her daughter's_. Please trust me, Antonia, _she thought, running her fingers through her hair. Tears dripped down her cheeks. _Please don't do anything stupid. Please listen to me. I love you. Please._

Listening to the tick of the clock, the soft thump of her own heart, and the sweet thrum of their harmless robotic companion, she waited.


	15. Chapter XV

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XV_

**5:45 AM.**

"Optimus Prime...is everything all right?"

Bumblebee, absently wringing his hands, observed the Autobot leader with bright optics. His door wings fluttered against his back in agitation, moving at such a frantic pace that they created a soft whirring noise, incredibly loud in the silence of the shadowed base. "Did I make a mistake, bringing Sam and Mikaela here?"

Ever since Bumblebee had returned with his two charges in tow, Optimus Prime hadn't said a word. He hadn't asked why he'd brought them in so early, he hadn't asked why Bumblebee had strayed away from the search, or if he'd found anything during the time he had spent following the orders originally given to him. He'd been, and was, completely silent, and while this wasn't anything new, it was a different sort of silence than what was usual; instead of the confident, wise silence he more often than not held, it was worried and distraught, as though he were unsure of the next step to take.

That wasn't normal, and it was worrying Bumblebee immensely.

He searched Optimus Prime's drawn expression, noting with growing unease how incredibly dim his optics were, and after another moment of silence, he sat before his leader, forcing his door wings to a rest. He placed a comforting hand on Optimus's arm. "Please talk to me...Say _something_. Let me know what is wrong," he said softly.

The tall Autobot glanced up from where he'd been staring at Sam and Mikaela curled in his cupped hands, both teenagers still asleep. They'd collapsed into an exhausted rest after Bumblebee had picked them up and had been that way ever since the yellow Camaro had arrived, the two of them belted in the back seat. They hadn't even awoken when Optimus Prime carefully manhandled them out of Bumblebee so that he could transform. Both children were so used to the Autobots' gentle touches that it hadn't bothered them.

The two human beings, looking fragile and small trapped within his fingers, didn't make him smile. They just made him worried.

When he finally spoke, Optimus Prime's tone of voice was a careful one. "It is not you, Bumblebee. You did not make any mistakes, bringing them here. I know you were just acting in the way you felt you should." He let out another sigh, the air whispering through his intakes as he raised his head to look at his small scout. "You should know the one thing that is bothering me."

Bumblebee nodded, edging closer. The tip of his pointer finger rested against Sam's head. "Yes...I was just making sure that what I did was all right with you, though I kind of regret my actions now." His door wings wilted as his optics searched the vague forms of his tiny charges. "They are so tired. They have not had to wake up this early since last year, before we arrived."

"I am surprised that their parents did not attempt to stop you."

"They have become used to us retrieving Sam and Mikaela at odd hours. I suppose they no longer care about how late or how early their children are with us. Their protection is what matters. But, back to the point." He met Optimus's gaze with his own. "Has anything happened in the time I was gone? Any updates, any clues...anything at all?"

"Nothing," Optimus Prime replied, giving his head a disappointed shake. "Ratchet, Ironhide, and Jazz have been searching ever since we first felt it last night, and I only returned to make sure you and our charges arrived safely. We have not found nor felt a thing this entire time, and apparently, neither have the Decepticons."

Bumblebee let out a shudder at the mention of their enemies. "I do not like how we are just letting them search for it as well, Optimus," he said, scowling. "It feels wrong."

"I know what you mean, but there is not much we can do at this point. We are not allowing them free access to Mission City; we just have something more important to think about, just as they do. It is not as though they are putting the population at risk. They are staying in their alternate forms, they are keeping under the radar, and they are not worried about us for the same reasons as we are not worried about them. The only way they will catch our attention, or we catch theirs, is if they find it first. Whatever it is."

"But, I thought...It is a sparkling, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Bumblebee. I do not think it is. It cannot be, or we would be able to sense it. It doesn't matter what it is, anyway. What matters is that this..._thing_, whether it is a full-grown Cybertronian, a sparkling, or something else, is hiding itself somehow. Either that, or...or it is offline."

Bumblebee jerked with immediate surprise and horror; he hadn't thought that whatever 'it' was had died. He hadn't even realized that that might be the best explanation at this point.

He fidgeted uneasily."...Do _you_ believe it is dead?"

"No. If I thought it was dead, I would have called off the search for it. If I thought that it did not matter, I would have done the same. But I do not think it is dead, and it definitely _does_ matter, which is why we both need to get back out there to find it."

He glanced down at Sam and Mikaela, still curled in his hands, and shifted them apart so Sam was held in his left and Mikaela in his right. "Wake up, you two."

There were some soft moans as the teenagers forced themselves awake, each one rubbing their tired eyes with fisted hands. Sam cracked a yawn, blinked a few times, and then re-focused his drooping eyes on Optimus Prime's face. He smiled. "Mornin'."

"Good morning to you too, boy. Did you sleep well?"

"Uh huh...Well, before 'Bee came knocking on my door, anyway." He turned himself towards Bumblebee, who held out a hand to him; Optimus Prime carefully set Sam in the center of his palm.

The yellow Camaro nudged his head against Sam's in a companionable greeting. "I am sorry. Something has happened, and I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

Mikalea cocked her head curiously from her place in Optimus's hands, looking only slightly conscious. "Is it a _bad_ something?"

Bumblebee's optics darted to meet Optimus Prime's before dropping back down to rest on her. "No. Well, not...not exactly, but it is going to take some explanation."

"He is correct. But right now, we must get going." With that, the Autobot leader carefully placed Mikaela on the floor and Bumblebee followed suit, setting Sam beside his girlfriend. As the scout began to transform, Optimus Prime looked down at their charges. They met his gaze, their hands intertwined between them. "Bumblebee will explain to you what has happened so far on your way to Mission City. As for you," his optics landed on the fully transformed Camaro, who turned in his direction, "Be careful, and good luck."

"You as well, Optimus Prime," he replied, Sam and Mikaela stepping into the front seats. Giving a loud farewell horn blare, Bumblebee's tires squealed as he turned sharply, his charges wailing with delight and surprise at the unexpected maneuver. A moment later, the Camaro was roaring out of the base, bumping onto the dusty desert road outside.

Optimus Prime listened to his smallest scout as he drove off toward Mission City, still nothing more than a shadowed cityscape against the soft pastel bruise of early morning sky. Even after the young Autobot's engine could no longer be heard, however, he continued to stand in the doorway of the base, thoughtful and quiet.

Bumblebee was right. Allowing the Decepticons free-range of Mission City was a horrible idea, one that went against everything he and his companions stood for. He had made the decision to 'ignore' their enemies only because the possibility of finding a sparkling, as well as whoever had created it, was greater and more important than dealing with Starscream and the ragtag remnants of the Decepticon race, who were, for their credit, keeping to themselves. As long they continued to do so, and as long as the human beings were left alone, he would do the same.

What to do if, or when, the sparkling was found was an entirely different situation.

Turning his head away from Mission City, Optimus Prime stepped forward to transform.

It was a far-away whistle, the sound of a jet flying overhead, that stopped him.

With narrowed optics, he glanced up and watched as Starscream shot through wisps of white clouds, twirling and spinning through the brightening sky. The Decepticon didn't appear to notice him, his thoughts elsewhere as he zipped toward Mission City's vague silhouette.

His fingers twitched into a fist and his facial mask slid into place with a snap, his shoulders beginning to tremble with anticipation. Yet, after some careful deliberation, he forced himself to stand down. The trembling ceased almost immediately, and his hands loosened.

_Remember. There will be a time and a place for battle. But not here and not now._

The Decepticon jet fading into obscurity, Optimus Prime quickly transformed and followed him, heading for Mission City.

* * *

**6:25 AM.**

"_No!_" The pretty blonde's face, shiny and wet with tears, was the subject of a split second up-close shot before being replaced with a view of the entire bedroom set, in which she was gripping the tail of a dark-haired man's wrinkled shirt with trembling fingers. "_Please, John, don't leave me here alone! Please, we can make this work! Please! I...I love you!_"

"Ugh...'Days of Our Lives'...?" she snickered. "I've got to admit, _compadre_, you couldn't have picked something more appropriate."

"Antonia, please hurry up! We're making a late start as it is!"

Antonia whipped her head up to glare in her mother's direction with narrowed eyes and an overall pouty expression. She gave her leg another tug, sending Telebot into distressed, grinding wails just as the pretty blond pictured on his television tummy burst into a fresh storm of tears.

"Mama!" Antonia wailed, letting out a grunt of effort as she attempted to extricate herself from Telebot's surprisingly strong grasp. "I'm having a bit of an issue here! Why can't we just take him?"

Pilar looked horrified. "What would we tell the doctor?"

"He can stay in the car! He doesn't have to come in!"

Telebot, unfortunately, disagreed; his wails shrieked up to an even higher decibel, easily drowning out the sobs of the_ Days of Our Lives_ actress.

Pilar quickly skittered back inside from where she'd been standing on their stone porch, her eyes wide, her hands clapped tightly over her ears. Her purse dropped to the worn, wooden floorboards of the front hallway as she observed the situation her daughter was currently in with an increasingly irritated expression.

"Why is he crying?" she yelped over Telebot's agonized wails.

"Why do you think?" Antonia replied smartly. Her fingers were losing their hold on the kitchen door's frame, and Telebot didn't seem to care about resorting to dirty fighting tactics to get what he wanted. He had both of Antonia's legs caught in his tiny, robotic hand, all the while screeching for all he was worth.

She let out a gasp as one of her own hands fell away from the door frame, followed by the other, her entire body crashing to the kitchen tile. Within seconds of her landing, Telebot dropped her legs and, letting out a series of clicks and whimpers, crawled onto her back. He grabbed fistfuls of her shirt and buried his tiny face between her shoulder blades, purring victoriously

On his television tummy, _Days of Our Lives_ was replaced with a purple dinosaur, dancing clumsily on his feet. "_I love you, you love me, we're a happy famaaaleee~!_"

Antonia grumbled, rubbing the side of her face as she gently nudged Telebot off of her back, pushing herself into a sitting position. Still standing before her, Pilar stepped forward, giving Telebot a wary glance before reaching out a hand to help her daughter.

"Are you all right?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. "That looked like it hurt."

"Yes, I'm fine, and _yes_, it hurt. But really, Mama." Antonia watched as the tiny transformer crawled into her lap, nuzzling against her thin chest and still purring, deep and low. "If we're going to go anywhere, he needs to come too."

"That's clear enough," Pilar mumbled, tugging on Antonia's sleeve; her daughter wrapped one arm around Telebot's bulky body, holding him close as she stood up.

"He can come, but he better be good, whether or not he has to stay in the car." _Which he _will_. Dios mio._ "Do you understand me, you little metal _diablo_?"

There was a soft _bzzrp!_ as the channel changed, and Telebot replied in the tough voice of a soldier: "Sir yes sir!"

Pilar let out a sigh and turned toward the front door, bending down to pick up her purse before stepping outside. "Let's get going, Antonia. Remember to shut and lock the door behind you."

"Yeah, yeah..." Antonia watched as her mother turned the corner. When she disappeared, she pressed her lips to the top of Telebot's helmeted head in a loud smooch.

"You did an amazing job, just like I asked!" she hissed joyfully, twirling once. "'Days of Our Lives' was a little over the top, though, don't you think?"

Telebot hummed happily, bouncing in Antonia's arms. In other words: _No, I think it was a perfect addition to our play act, human femme-child!_

"Ah, it doesn't matter. Just as long as you get to - "

"_Antonia_!"

"Coming!" Giving her tiny companion another quick kiss, she held him close as she jogged down the hallway, Telebot transforming in her arms.

The front door slammed shut behind her.

* * *

**6:30 AM.**

"_Hijo de puta_..."

"Ugh, what now, Antonia?"

"I can't get my seat belt on!"

"Maybe that's because you've got a chubby little robot in your lap? Common sense, _hija_. Put him in the back seat."

"What if we get into an accident?"

"Put the belt on him back there."

"...Wait...wait...Ah, okay! I got it."

"That looks very uncomfortable."

"He's my baby. His safety is crucial."

"_Dios mio_...Are you finally ready, your Majesty?"

"Yes. We can go."

Grumbling softly, Pilar started the car with a twist of the keys and carefully pulled out of the narrow alley that served as their driveway. Flicking on her blinker, she turned off of their block and onto the next street, mingling with the steady flow of morning traffic.

Pilar sighed, feeling her muscles relax. They were going to receive the help they needed. She was finally doing something about this crazy situation.

Their old Jeep Cherokee bumbled to a stop behind a short line of cars. Up ahead, the traffic light blinked yellow, then red.

Pilar loosened her hold on the wheel and closed her eyes. "Antonia, you have no clue how happy I am that we are finally getting you the medical attention you need. I'm...I'm also happy that you've gone along with this idea so nicely...I wasn't really expecting it." She let out a soft laugh, opening her eyes again and turning her head toward her daughter in the seat beside her. "Not because you're a bad girl, but...because...I..." Her sentence tapered off, and her eyes widened.

The passenger's seat was empty, the door open.

She swiveled around to glare into the back seat, desperately searching for her daughter. _Oh no, please, no..._

Empty.

Glancing up and out the open passenger doorway, she noticed Antonia's fleeting form charging down the sidewalk, her choppy hair flying out behind her, Telebot fully transformed and locked in her arms. She skidded around the opposite corner, the All Spark shards flickering brightly even beneath her long-sleeved shirt, and disappeared.

Pilar let out a loud wail. Quickly, clumsily reaching across the seat and slamming the passenger door shut, she proceeded to ride up and over the gum-spattered sidewalk, thankfully empty of any unsuspecting pedestrians, in an illegal move before dropping onto the street. Ignoring the series of shocked honks blaring behind her, she bore her teeth, narrowed her eyes and swerved into a chase after her daughter.

_Oh, Antonia, how could you how could you HOW COULD YOU!_


	16. Chapter XVI

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XVI_

**6:33 AM.**

It was only six in the morning, and it was already hot enough to have him sweating. What he wouldn't give to have his Sedan fixed right now! The grease monkey at Mission City Repairs promised it would be finished by this afternoon, but what the hell did he know? The look that man had had on his face suggested he didn't know how to tie his shoes, let alone fix a car.

He groaned, yanking at his pants uncomfortably. His legs were absolutely killing him! When was the last time he had walked this far? Not since he was at least 30, no doubt. That was nearly 15 years ago. Where had all that time gone?

The man pressed a hand to his soft belly and sighed quietly as he rounded the corner. Just another hard-working Joe who had developed a pudge where his perfect set of abs used to be. He couldn't even walk a few blocks without losing his breath because he sat on his fat ass at a desk all day.

Wasn't life just a frigid bitch?

He scowled, checking his watch again. _Damn it all, Travis said that if I was late one more time -_

"Ow! Hey, what the hell?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" A tiny girl, a real little thing, gave him a quick grin, her breath wheezing in and out. "I didn't mean to hit you, I'm just...I...I gotta go!"

He watched her charge past, blinking with confusion in her aftermath. _Why is she holding a TV? Did she rob a store or something?_

_Wait...is she _glowing_?_

He jerked with surprise as a Jeep squealed loudly behind him, its tires leaving skids a mile long. Behind the wheel was a young woman, her knuckles white, her lips twisted into a snarl. She looked like a lady with a score to settle, so he took a few clumsy steps back as she charged down the road, the engine roaring.

Even though the Jeep and the thief had turned the farthest corner, he could easily hear the scream of rubber as well as someone wailing, "YOU GET IN THIS CAR RIGHT NOW, YOUNG LADY, OR I WILL KICK YOUR TINY ASS INTO NEXT WEEK!"

_Huh._ He blinked again.

Ever since those damn robots from outer space had arrived, all the crazies had come out of hiding. You would think the world had gone mad.

* * *

**6:35 AM**

"Where is she?"

"I never told her a specific time, Tyler. I just asked her to arrive as early as possible." Zachary ran a shaking hand through his mop of messy hair and gave the senior sitting beside him an uneasy glance. "You don't think something's happened to her, do you?"

A cloud crossed over Tyler's expression, casting his bright blue eyes into momentary shadow as he gave the idea some thought. Absently scratching the ace bandages encasing his left leg, he shrugged. "Maybe her parents found out about what happened to her. I mean, my mom bought my practice-gone-wrong explanation, but then again, I don't have glowing rocks covering my body. That's definitely something harder to hide."

His answer did little good to reassure Zachary. The teenager fidgeted and pushed himself up from the school bench, choosing to pace instead of sit. His sneakers clopped against the ground as he walked from one end of the cement sidewalk square to the other, his hands pushed hastily into his pants pockets, his eyes alert as he searched the early-morning pedestrians for Antonia's tiny form.

Tyler, meanwhile, let out a soft sigh and stretched across the bench, letting his head hang over its edge. His gaze lopsided, he absently glanced up, down and across the street, beginning to hum to himself as he let his thoughts wander.

He didn't expect to see her suddenly swerve across the corner, nearly toppling over her own feet and carrying a tiny television set clutched against her chest. Apparently, she didn't expect to see him, either. She stopped hard, her eyes wide and prominent on her thin, oval face. Then she let out a relieved wail, quickly closing the distance between them.

_'Quickly' isn't the right word. I've never seen anyone run so fast,_ he thought to himself, frowning. _Did something happen?_

Tyler pushed himself into a sitting position just as Zachary swiveled toward the sound of her voice, happiness swimming into his expression, followed closely by confusion. When the realization came to him, each emotion dropped from his face as though they had literal weight; horror, slow and toxic, wormed its way into his features.

Even from where he stood, he could feel the power, the All Spark's power, throbbing around her, radiating from her as though she was a small sun. It pressed against him in the way bass does when it reverberates from a speaker; it echoed in his heart, in his bones.

_If I can feel it, being only human,_ he realized, his heart beginning to gallop. _Everything else can too. Autobot, Decepticon: __everything._

He glanced at Tyler, who wore an expression of utter confusion on his face, identical to the one he himself had had only seconds earlier. Their eyes met, wide and surprised, just as Antonia skittered to a stop before them, breathing heavily. She was smiling, completely oblivious to the pure power radiating from her like the glow of a lamp, completely oblivious to the way the shards inside of her glowed.

In her desperate escape from her mother, she had let the All Spark's power go. She had let the shards burn bright, let the added energy from the All Spark seep into her muscles, thinking she could control it enough to give her the speed she needed while still keeping it hidden. Instead, it had gotten a hold on her and she had let it fuel her, losing herself in the furious rush of adrenaline, in her wonderful speed, the thrum of her heart, the beat in her head, and the uncontrollable, inhuman power that was hers, now and perhaps forever. The idea excited her. It scared her.

Most importantly, she had forgotten. She had let it go, and she had forgotten.

"You have...no _clue_...how happy I am...to see you guys! You're not going to believe the night I've had...Not going to believe it at _all_!"

She didn't see Zachary's frightened expression turn to blatant terror, didn't see the way his cheeks paled with fright, nor did she hear the gasp Tyler uttered as he readied himself to scream. Instead, she stared at Telebot, holding him at arm's length, still hidden in his alternate mode. He was trembling.

"You're not going to believe it!" she repeated breathlessly. "This television isn't _really_ a television! I did it, Zach! I made it into a - "

"HOLY SHIT, IT'S A TRANSFORMER!" Tyler shrieked, shooting up and onto his feet just as Telebot, shaking hard and beginning to wail, transformed, just as Zachary took three stumbling steps backward, his lips stretching and readying to wail.

At first, Antonia thought that their horror was in response to her tiny robotic companion.

Then it hit her.

* * *

**6:35 AM.** _**Autobot communications link.**_

_OH OH OH! -_

_Oh Primus, DO YOU FEEL IT -_

_It's alive! It's alive! -_

_So bright, so bright, so _powerful _-_

_Not a sparkling, something more, something -_

"Bumblebee...Hey, 'Bee, what's wrong? What's happening? Why did you stop? Y-you can't stop here, in the middle of the - !"

_Why was it hiding? -_

_How? That isn't possible! It -_

"It's the All Spark, Sam! We can feel it! But - "

_THE DECEPTICONS KNOW, THE DECEPTICONS KNOW -_

_FIND IT FIND IT FIND IT FIND IT QUICKLY FIND -_

" - The Decepticons can feel it too! And - "

_NO NO NO NO NO NO SCORPONOK BARRICADE STARSCREAM NO -_

_ALL OF YOU, FIND IT! FIND IT NOW! GET IT, RETRIEVE IT, NO MATTER WHAT IT TAKES! FIND IT NOW! FIND IT NOW!_

_Oh no, oh no, oh no -_

_No...it's...-_

"They're closer to it...Closer..."

_Oh Primus..._

_It's a -_

"WHAT?"

_WHAT? -_

_Scorponok, no -_

"Bumblebee, I don't..."

_It's a child._

_...What?_

_A child._

"...Sam...The All Spark is a child, in a child - "

_A sparkling?_

_A child. A_ human_ child. The All Spark...inside of a -_

_A...child...A little girl._

" - And she's been captured."

_..._

_SAVE HER! DAMN IT ALL, SAVE HER!_

_

* * *

_

**6:35 AM. **_**Decepticon communcations link.**_

_STARSCREAM, STARSCREAM, DO YOU FEEL IT?_

_Oh, I have never sensed anything so bright, so -_

_OF COURSE I FEEL IT. FIND IT._

_I'm going, going now -_

_ALL SPARK -_

_To the source -_

_Just around the corner -_

_So close, so close! -_

_Scorponok? -_

_I HAVE! I HAVE IT! POWER, POWER, ALL SPARK, MINE!_

_Scorponok -_

_SCORPONOK, YOU HAVE IT, WHAT IS IT? WHAT IS -_

_A fleshing, it's a fleshling!_

_A WHAT?_

_Starscream, it's...-_

_A child._

_Scorponok has a -_

_WHY? WHY DOES HE HAVE AN ORGANIC?_

_The child _is_ it. The child is -_

_The All Spark._

_

* * *

_

Pilar gripped the steering wheel with her fists, her brows knotted together with distraught fury as she twisted the Jeep Cherokee around another corner, its wheels burning rubber tattoos against the concrete.

_Where in God's name did that girl go? I could've sworn she was here just a second -_

Her sneakered foot suddenly slammed the brake, jerking the old car forward, the engine shrieking and wheezing to bumbling, complaining stand-still.

Her eyes wide and pale against her olive cheeks, she watched the pavement behind Antonia furrow and build like a mole's tunnel, saw her tiny daughter be swallowed up into the clawed arms of a giant, metallic scorpion that burst from the tunnel in a writhing spasm. It clutched her to its serpentine, sectioned body, knocked Telebot from her grasp and disappeared back into its hole, all within a matter of five seconds.

As pedestrians walking along either side of the street ran, scattering and shrieking with fright, into the early morning, as traffic swerved out of control with surprise at the attack, as the two boys she'd been with, along with Telebot, crowded around the top of the hole Antonia had disappeared into, their faces contorted with horror, as the world ceased to exist as Pilar knew it, she screamed.

She ran.

* * *

"Ant-t-tonuh-nuh-nia, no, no, no, _no_!"

Zachary collapsed to his knees, his breath wheezing in and out at a terrifying rate as he bent over the dirt-encircled hole, trembling with fright. Tyler stared down into the opening from where he stood beside Zach, completely still, his back and his shoulders tense.

Then he launched himself into it.

"NO! TYLER, ANTONIA, NO!" Zach wailed, his voice high and desperate, his fingertips brushing the tail of the senior's shirt just as Tyler tumbled inside, disappearing from view. Beside him, Telebot shrieked with agony, his tiny optics searching the expanse of the hole below.

Inside, snarls and mechanical shrieks floated up, intermingling with the clatter of metal against metal as well as quick, short snorts of human breath. Nothing could be seen, only heard, and just as Zachary was debating on jumping in himself, ignoring both the chaos exploding around him and the tiny, television-bot Antonia had brought with her, someone stopped him.

"Hey! Wait!"

His feet dangling cautiously in the opening within the flower of crushed cement, he glanced up, his cheeks pale, his curly bangs hanging in his sweaty face. Running toward him was Antonia's mother, her hair messily hastened into a ponytail, her eyes just as wide and reflecting the same storm of emotions he imagined were in his own.

She reached for him, twisting her fingers into a fistful of his shirt and yanking him away from the hole. Her gaze was frantic as it landed on him. "Are you _insane_? You can't...you can't go _down_ there!"

"I have to! What if they're getting hurt? What if they need me?"

"You can't - "

She suddenly gripped both of his shoulders and pulled him, dragged him, away from the opening in the cement.

Just as Scorponok came exploding out, smoking and squealing.

* * *

Locked in his strong arms, there was no escape.

She was fighting against something she couldn't see, something that couldn't be harmed with useless punches, scratches or bites. He was beyond her, beyond her fragile human defense system; at the moment, seemingly beyond everything.

Her breath whispering in and out with a ferocity that was frightening in its speed, she watched the light fade away as the mechanical beast, his claws still tucked around her like prison bars, began to drag her into his expanse of underground tunnels. Faintly, she heard both Tyler and Zachary scream her name, their voices reverberating within the growing darkness, as well as Telebot's agonized wailing as he lost sight of her. Then, there was a series of sounds she couldn't place as easily: a loud thump, the rattle of rubble, the dull clank of metal against rock.

It occurred to her that they were being followed.

"Let her _go_, you little bastard!" There was a whistle as Tyler Eller, clutching a torn piece of sewage pipe like a baseball bat, swung at the robotic scorpion's head, letting out a victorious shout as it made loud contact. Scorponok shrieked, not with pain but with irritation, and pushed Antonia roughly behind him as though he were guarding some sort of stolen treasure. With his claws free, he hissed, his serpentine body wriggling with anticipation, and lurched toward Tyler.

Striking out with one thick limb, Scorponok lunged for Tyler's head, though the senior blocked him with his forearm, jutting the pipe forward like a lance and striking Scorponok's chest. Toppling backward, Scorponok shrieked again, his jaws snapping as he scuttled back onto his feet and dove toward Tyler's legs instead, trying to knock him off-balance. What Tyler had in strength he lacked horribly in grace, and he stumbled clumsily before landing hard on his backside. The pipe clattered from his hand, spinning off into the darkness.

Scorponok's optics gleamed as he crawled toward Tyler, hissing and snapping. The teenager desperately pulled his legs up to protect his chest but Scorponok batted them away, leaving Tyler exposed.

_No, no, no, please God, no!_ "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!" Antonia shrieked hoarsely, rushing forward on her hands and knees, cutting through her caprees and scratching her palms without feeling any of it. The All Spark shards flashing brightly through the cover of her long-sleeved shirt and illuminating the jutting rock walls of the messy tunnel, she gripped the ragged end of Scorponok's tail before the mechanical scorpion could turn to face her. Letting out a weak gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut and sent the raw energy of the All Spark ripping through his circuitry.

Scorponok screamed with pain, thrashing and jerking in Antonia's hold before being propelled out of her grasp, down the tunnel and straight through the opening by the mere force of her unexpected attack. His wails faded as he exploded from the tunnel, and there was a loud thump as he landed outside, some distance away.

The tunnel was suddenly, completely, silent. Though chaos ensued above them, every noise was diffused and insignificant.

Trembling with exhaustion, Antonia crept forward until she brushed against Tyler's chest. She pulled back, surprised, and then reached forward again, this time for his hand.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, squinting through the rising dust and faded light in an attempt to see his face.

He stared at her for a moment, quiet and in shock, before nodding. "Yeah...Oh shit, yeah, I'm fine, but...but..." He turned his head, looking down the tunnel where a shaft of light shown in. A shudder ruptured his body, beginning with his shoulders and ending at his knees. "..._S-shit_."

"I know," she replied, gripping his wrist in her hand and beginning to crawl forward. "I know."

* * *

Pilar watched Scorponok, screaming, writhing, and smoking, fly through the hole and into the air before landing on the roof of a parked car, going straight through it and collapsing into its back seat. The front windshield exploded outward with his impact, glass tinkling against the pavement like chimes and causing pedestrians to scream and dive for cover.

She turned back to the cracked, flowered opening in the cement just as Antonia and Tyler appeared within it, covered in dust and tiny pieces of pebble, sweat masking their dirtied faces. Antonia's hair was a knotted mess on her head and coated with street muck.

"Antonia!" Pilar breathed, reaching out to take her daughter's tiny hand just as Zachary did the same for Tyler, Telebot bouncing up and down between them. He was humming loudly, the gears inside of him grinding and squealing as he gripped Pilar's pant leg, giving it a hard yank. She absently shook him off, wrapping Antonia in her arms and pressing her lips to her daughter's forehead.

Frightened tears trickled down her cheeks. "Antonia, why did you do that? Why did you run away?"

"I needed to see Zach and Tyler. I knew you wouldn't let me, but I needed to, Mama." She nodded toward her newest friends earnestly. "They're a part of this. They're going to help us."

Pilar scrutinized the two teenage boys, the younger one carefully inspecting the older one's ripped cast of ace bandage. They both glanced up when they noticed Pilar observing them, and Tyler offered her a weak smile.

She scowled scornfully, pressing Antonia closer. "They're so young...How can they protect you? How can they help you?"

Her daughter suddenly stiffened in her arms and pulled from her grasp to hold her at a length. Her expression was fierce. "Tyler just saved my life, Mama. Zachary did it earlier, last night. I've done nothing to help either of them, and yet, they've stayed beside me. They've risked so much to help me as much as they have, and they've promised me that they're not going anywhere. They've promised, and I can rely on them! I know I can!"

Pilar was silent as she inspected Antonia, Zach and Tyler carefully, biting her lower lip. The last thing she wanted to do was trust Antonia's friends, but she didn't appear to have any other choice at the moment. If what her daughter said of them was true, anyway, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. She didn't feel entirely comfortable allowing these two young boys to put themselves in danger, but it was a little too late for that.

_Ay! Dios mio!_ Hissing softly in exasperation, she glared down at Telebot. "Would you cut it out, _diablo pequeño_?" she cried, trying to shake him off for the second time. "What is the matter with you?"

The tiny transformer was yanking on her pants leg hard enough to nearly tear it, whimpering weakly. His masked face was upturned toward the sky, and with his free hand, he pointed.

"Mayday, mayday!" a uniformed soldier cried on his televised chest, a single second before Telebot let Pilar's leg go and clapped his trembling hands over his optics, quickly escaping into his alternate form.

Pilar blinked, and she, Antonia, Tyler and Zachary glanced up at the sky.

Starscream let out a twisted cackle as he dove toward the group, twisting and whistling through the air. "You're _mine_, Sparkchild!"

_Oh, no, no, no, no!_ Pilar instinctively shielded Antonia's body with her own, turning her back on Starscream and pressing her daughter close, squeezing her eyes shut as she let out a breathless cry. She felt hands, Antonia's, Zachary's, Tyler's, grip her back as their arms wrapped protectively around her own body. Beneath them, Telebot rolled between the forest of their legs, hiding himself amongst their dusted shoes and shins, trembling with fright.

Her face buried against Antonia's hair, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with the two teenage boys who were moving to protect both her and her daughter, she saw nothing. But she heard so much.

There was a loud skidding sound as a car swerved to a stop a few feet from where they stood, followed by the quick clatter of its doors being opened, the sound of running feet. The doors clicked closed, and a series of grinds, squeals and shifts followed, then the stomp of heavy limbs adjusting themselves. A panicked voice cried out for people she couldn't see, didn't know: "Sam, Mikaela, hide! Quickly!"

There was a short silence, a space of three seconds, before it was interrupted by the same voice, only louder, closer. "Jazz!"

"I got this, Bee! Get'em somewhere safe!" another voice replied shortly, reassuring, cool and collected; almost amused, as though everything was going accorded to plan, as though they were having the time of their lives. She squeezed the teenagers closer against her as the same robotic grinds sounded again, almost overhead.

_He's transforming,_ she thought absently.

There was a snicker followed closely by the shriek of metal roaring against metal, "Eat it, Decepticon bitch!", and the whistle as Starscream soared above their heads, distracted by his surprise attacker. His voice was venomous as he began to swerve back and forth, trying desperately to disengage the tiny Autobot. "You're supposed to be _dead_, Autobot scum! I thought being ripped in half by Megatron would put you down for the count!"

"You thought wrong, Screamer!" Jazz chuckled, his voice fading as the two flew clumsily away. "Jazz is back, baby! You'd better believe it!"

Pilar let out a soft gasp, trembling so hard that she rattled the three children closed in against her. Very carefully, she lifted her head, her eyes wet with frightened tears.

Starscream and Jazz were gone. The street was nearly deserted, pedestrians and civilians hiding within stores or behind cars. She could see tiny expressions of terror peering through cracked shop windows, from behind tires and bent bumpers. Most of those eyes, wide and wild, were locked on the slowly approaching black and white cruiser making its way down the cracked street, its lights soundlessly flashing, its movements calculated and sluggish, as though it were thinking.

Or stalking.

Behind her, she heard the thump of heavy feet. Thick yellow arms encircled their tiny group protectively. The Autobot standing above them tried to glance between the approaching cruiser and the collection of frightened humans nearly pressed against him, but he found it extremely difficult to do so: one required his attention, the other his strong curiosity. He forced his gaze on Barricade with a quick shake of his head.

"So. We meet yet again, Bumblebee." A cold voice erupted from the police cruiser as it began to transform before Pilar's eyes, the gears shifting into place to form a thick body, pointed limbs, a snarling, intricate face. Its red optics were locked on the Autobot, who had begun to visibly tremble. With anticipation or with fear, she couldn't tell. But she did notice how small their protector was compared to the robotic beast that stood so close by.

Barricade held out a clawed hand, his sharp fingers curling inward. "I believe you have something I want."

Pilar whimpered harshly, yanking Antonia, Zachary and Tyler, their heads still tucked together, even closer against her. Above her, the Autobot Bumblebee, his optics bright and blue, locked gazes with her; just for a second, but it was enough.

"Shh, little human," he murmured reassuringly, ignoring the question asked and quickly glancing back up at Barricade, who had taken a step closer. He himself took a step back, nudging them along with him. "Do not fear. I have defeated him once. I can defeat him again."

"Oh, please," Barricade snickered, his optics flickering with vicious delight. He took another step forward as Bumblebee took another stumbling step backward. "I could crush you beneath one fist."

"Then why didn't you?" Bumblebee replied loftily. There was a click as his battle mask shifted into place.

"I didn't have a real reason to, not then," Barricade stated evenly. He eyed first Pilar, and then Antonia, curled against her mother's thin chest, nearly hidden by Zachary and Tyler's bent-over bodies. He smiled softly, his razor fangs glinting in the early morning sun. "But now...The child - "

" - Stays with us," Bumblebee interrupted.

"Oh?" Barricade questioned. "Do you own her? Is she an _Autobot_ plaything?"

"...No...But - "

"Sparkchild!" Barricade hissed loudly. Against her, Pilar felt Antonia wince. She knew it was she who Barricade wanted to speak to; that was obvious enough.

"Sparkchild, answer me! You must choose a side! You are a fleshling, granted, but you are certainly intelligent enough to make simple decisions. Even at your insignificant age, you have that capability." He took another step forward, driving Bumblebee against the brick wall of the school. The small Autobot was trapped.

Barricade smiled wider, mockingly. "Let me see your pretty, fragile face, human femme. Let me see, and speak to me, answer me. Would you like the freedom of a Decepticon, the protection we could give you...or are you going to rely on the useless scrapheaps that are the _Autobots_ to defend your interests, your life?"

"Stop it!" Bumblebee snarled, his door wings twitching. He was trembling with anxiety now, not anticipation; with fear. "Leave her alone!"

"QUIET!" Barricade roared, sending a shudder through Bumblebee's tiny body. His red optics were locked on Antonia's head.

There was silence as Barricade waited, Bumblebee's gaze shifting from him to the group protected by the circle of his arms, not knowing what else to do.

After a few moments, Antonia let out a muffled murmur from the center of the group. "Iss eye yass, ooshag."

Pilar stiffened. Bumblebee did as well, glaring down at Antonia."Small one! Do not provoke him!" he chastised angrily.

"I said QUIET, little scout!" Barricade snarled again, his fists trembling at his sides. Taking another step toward them, nearly touching the tiny, frightened Autobot now, Barricade leaned forward.

"What did you say? he demanded, his claws clicking.

"I was unware that you were hard of hearing, Barricade."

The police cruiser swiveled around, his weapon held eagerly at arm's length. He hissed, his fangs protruding angrily from his snarling mouth, his optics bright and furious.

Optimus Prime stood before him, his sword drawn, its tip nearly brushing the barrel of Barricade's gun. His faceplate was tucked around his mouth, his gaze dark and dangerous.

He glared at the Decepticon. "The child replied with, 'Kiss my ass, douche bag.' I believe she just declined your gracious offer."

"Shove it, Optimus," Barricade rasped, knocking away the Autobot's glowing sword with a quick swipe; Optimus snarled. "I don't give a frag whether she says yes or no. She belongs to us!"

"She belongs to _no one_!" he replied hotly. "She was given a choice, and she made her decision! Now, stand down! You are outnumbered."

Barricade cackled, his gaze shifting to the space above Optimus Prime's shoulder. "You are going to eat those words, Autobot."

Bumblebee ducked, covering the tiny group with his body just as Starscream crashed into Optimus Prime's back, knocking him over Bumblebee. The two of them, Peterbuilt and seeker, crashed into Barricade and toppled through the brick wall of the school. The three mechs beginning to wrestle, fight, snarl and growl on impact, Bumblebee lifted his head, nudging Antonia, Pilar, Zach and Tyler away with the side of his face. His optics looked desperate and worried.

"Run! Please run!"

After that, he turned, ripped Barricade from Optimus Prime's chassis and tackled him to ground in a fury of arms and legs.

"Do as he says!" Pilar cried, clutching a trembling Telebot in her arms and shoving the stumbling children forward. They regained their footing and began to run, Zachary helping Tyler along as best as he could, flying across the pavement and away from the crumbling remains of the high school, from the screeching and shrieking of metal grinding metal; running toward the abandoned ruin of the street, but to nowhere in particular. Just running. Escaping.

Before they even reached the opposite sidewalk, two cars, a gray Topkick and a Search and Rescue vehicle, its lights flashing and sirens wailing, swerved around the corner and stopped at the edge of the potholed road. A series of voices, three human and two robotic, called out to them, intermingling with each other in desperation and panic:

"RUN FASTER!"

"NO, NO, NO, NO, WATCH OUT!"

"HE'S COMING!"

"RUN!"

"Primus, Ratchet, we're not going to get to them!"

"Too slow to transform - "

"Might hit them, might hurt them - !"

_Who's coming?_ Antonia thought deliriously, her strength fading and the All Spark shards aching dully within her as her footing slowed. _The other two Decepticons are in the school...fighting...but..._

_Scorponok. Oh God, he isn't dead he isn't dead HE isn't DEAD -_

As if on cue, Scorponok snarled from behind them, close enough so that she could hear the tip-tapping scuttle of his legs, the soft drag of his snapped tail and the sudden absence of both as he propelled himself into the air.

_Mama Zach Tyler Telebot no no no no no he's going to kill them going to hurt them going to -_ "WATCH OUT!" she screamed, reaching out and pushing Tyler forward, knocking him away just as Scorponok's claws brushed her shoulder blades, watching him bring down Zach, Pilar, and Telebot. As they went tumbling across the broken pavement, out of Scorponok's reach, she let out a sigh of relief. It was a second-long relief, but relief nonetheless.

Scorponok's wails filled her head and rerouted her back to the present. The realization that he was going to crush her occurred to him, and as his wails became those of angry agony, she collided with his serpentine body and crashed to the pavement. The tiny Decepticon bounced from her back and landed on the sidewalk beside her with a load groan.

The moment her head came in contact with the sidewalk with a loud, distinguishable thump, her vision went black.

Her hearing lasted a bit longer.

A twisted collision of voices rippled through her ears, faded in and out as they approached her. There were those she knew, those she loved:

"Oh God, wake up, wake up, please!" (_it's Zachary hey it's okay i'm okay i just i'm tired very tired and my head it -_ )  
"There's so much blood...oh hell, her head!" (_Tyler is my head okay maybe mama was right maybe there's something wrong with it wrong with me - _)  
"Antonia...? Antonia, can you hear me? Please, say something! Please..." (_i can hear you mama i just my mouth my voice it's gone i can't speak can't...can't..._)

Those she did not know, those she remembered, interrupted those she knew.

"Give her some space, go on, move over...Ironhide, stomp that slagging scorpion to pieces, I've got to take care of her. Sam...Help me, I need you to - " (_It's Megatron, move, retreat, take cover!_)  
"Already done, Ratchet. He's not going to be a problem anymore." (_Sam, we will protect you!_)  
"...There's so much blood...When you said that she...she was...the All spark, I didn't think..." (_Listen to me, you're a soldier now!_)  
"Be careful with her, Sam, please be careful!" (_No matter what happens, I'm really glad I got in that car with you..._)  
"Don't worry, Mikaela, I've got her." (_No sacrifice, no victory._)

They ebbed away, faded. All but one, that voice from before that belonged to the Autobot who had so easily rescued her, all of them, from that jet, that Decepticon. "...Oh, _damn_, Ratch'..."

"I know. You don't need to tell me how bad it is, Jazz. Scorponok cracked her head open. The tiny femme just collapsed right under him..." The sentence tapered off, unfinished.

Tentative, cool fingers, soft and gentle, brushed her cheeks. A voice murmured to her, tried to bring her back. "...Hey, girl, can you hear me...?"

The touch was shoved away, "Leave her be, Jazz. She's so far gone, she can't answer you," and she moaned. _No, please, don't go..._

Forcing her tired eyes open one more time before giving into the growing, numbing darkness of her wounded head completely, she could see only the vaguest blotches of color, and the one that dominated her vision at the moment was silver, small, slim.

Antonia lifted her hand, reached out weakly; his touch had been sweet, so cooling to her aching head. She watched the color blotch lean forward, and the tip of a finger rested in the palm of her trembling hand. His voice was as reassuring as it was before, so sure of himself, of her.

"Hey, little babe, you're gonna be all right. Just stay with me, now, stay with me, okay? Don't let go. Can you do that?"

Giving a weak nod, her eyes slipped closed.

His voice, all of their voices, faded. His soft touch, his color and his shape. Her sight, her sense of hearing, of feeling, disappeared completely. No more pain, no more ache in her head. She could no longer taste the rusty blood in her mouth.

After everything left her, there was darkness.  
And after the darkness, there was nothing.


	17. Chapter XVII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XVII_

Antonia had always been small compared to other children her age.

People passing by, friends, even the occasional family member would often mistake her as much younger than she actually was. Her size had worried the doctors and nurses when she had been born, but while Pilar had flinched and trembled at each incomprehensible, frightening disorder that the doctors, draped in their bloodied scrubs, had ticked off on their gloved fingers, each somehow more frightening than the last, Eliazar had merely stared at Antonia, his arms settled loosely at his sides and his expression absolutely bright with amazement and delight. It was as though the tiny creature they had created together was something without a single blemish, despite the fact that the two of them combined had more than a fair share of flaws; it was as though she was perfect.

When her husband had finally lifted his head and had captured her gaze, his caramel irises tinged with pure love for both her as well as the newest addition to their family, she had stopped listening to the mumbles of the white hospital ghosts who were trying, it seemed, too hard to spark fear in her heart instead of the adoration that accompanied the birth of a child. Allowing the monotonous voices to fade into the background, she had continued to stare between her baby and her Eliazar, relishing the rare, powerful emotions she witnessed flickering across her husband's face that she, days ago, had believed to have disappeared completely just months after they had been wed.

_She is going to be our do-over,_ she had thought distractedly, sensing the excitement bubbling within her as both she and Eliazar had finally broken their connection to look at their sleeping baby. _We can forget what has happened. We can move on._

She'd been foolish to believe that the birth of their first and only child would allow them to erase the gap that had grown between them, the gap that was intent on pushing them farther and farther away from each other. She should've _known_ that nothing could ever completely rake the dirt from between the growing, feathering cracks of their marriage. She should've _known_ that Eliazar was as uncontrollable and as unpredictable as a lightning storm, just as potentially destructive and scary, and always would be. He was a man made of quicksilver, constantly propelling himself in confusing patterns that she was unable to follow, bouncing about on the energy of his emotions rather than that of his common sense, and because of this, because of who he was, she should've _known_ that one day, he would repeat the incident that had first put the dagger in the heart of their relationship -

_- No please no I didn't mean to I'm sorry please no I'm bleeding OH GOD THAT HURTS YOU'RE HURTING ME NO -_

- Only the second time, he would take the dagger and he would twist it, spilling dirtied disrespect and engine-red pain from the gaping rip he'd created all on his own.

Nonetheless, even she had to admit that they had tried. They had both tried very hard.

As Antonia had grown up, learning how to crawl, beginning to speak a steady stream of Babynese and growing out the black curls she'd been born with, she and Eliazar, behind the scenes of their Happy Young Couple act, had desperately attempted to piece together what they'd once had, each of them pulling their own weight: he, keeping his temper in check and she, doing whatever possible to prevent him from becoming stressed or angry, in effect completing most of the household chores as well as doing the dirty work involved with caring for a young child. She was the one who had fed, changed, and bathed Antonia each and every single day. Eliazar, on the other hand, was the one who made Antonia laugh when she could not, played with her when he found the time and was somehow able to hush her tears when she had exhausted every possible avenue to do so. He was the Magic that came and went, flashing on and off like the light of dying bulb, a firefly that burned as well as glittered and only came when he wasn't needed, merely wanted. Because of all that he managed to do for Antonia, more than what she had expected of him, she hadn't believed he would give in.

But on a summer evening three years before, only hours after the dagger had stabbed the heart of their relationship into a bloodied pulp with one final blow -

_- No no please not again not this not now weren't we doing better weren't we OH NO GOD NO NO NO STOP YOU'RE HURTING ME PLEASE NO -_

- He'd left, escaping during the darkest hours of the stifling summer night, leaving the side of his bed made, its sheets tucked in. He'd taken only what he'd owned.

He hadn't said good bye, unwilling to admit to either of them that he'd lost all hope that he and Pilar might become something more if their relationship was given more time, more effort. Unwilling to admit that the little miracle they'd born from the very best parts of each other had failed in its attempt to hold them together.

Unwilling to admit that Antonia, his daughter, his only child, wasn't enough to keep him around.

That had been, somehow, _only_ three years ago. It didn't feel like such a small time since she had lost who she'd believed to be her other half, even though he'd been so intensely uncontrollable and even though there were times when she'd feared him more than she had loved him, had even hated him.

_At one point, he was my other half, anyway,_ she corrected herself absently. _Had been._

She'd lost Eliazar, and it had been one of the most painful experiences of her entire life. Not merely the incident of losing him, but her marriage itself. It had been painful in every sense of the word.

Despite everything that had happened, she did not consider their time together a complete disaster. The one flower that had blossomed during month upon loveless month of their deteriorating relationship was Antonia, _her_ Antonia, and even though she'd lost her other half, she'd been able to hold onto that tiny piece they'd created together. The tiny piece that Eliazar hadn't wanted in the end, she had more than willingly, gratefully, taken. She had loved Antonia more than she loved anything or anyone else on the planet, and she always would, no matter what her daughter said and did amidst her fits of anger.

She'd been happy because she'd had Antonia, while _he_ had nothing. She'd been happy, for a little while.

That had changed.

Antonia's consciousness hung in a realm she couldn't reach, and would, perhaps, stay there forever. She might never open her eyes again.

She might lose her daughter.

The thought brought a fresh ache of pure agony thrashing through her, a tidal wave that exhausted the light of her senses, her mind, her memories. It burned, the agony, but it burned cold, like frostbite. It burned like the chill and rust of metal, like a cinch around her heart, destroying its strings one by one.

The tears falling freely from her eyes, Pilar stared at Antonia, stared hard, as though trying to commit the face she already knew by heart to memory. She stared because, at any given moment, Antonia could stop _being_ Antonia. She could cease to exist.

She reached out with a trembling hand and traced each slope of her daughter's olive cheeks, her nose, her forehead. She stroked the tip of her pointer finger beneath each sleep-bruised eye, softly brushing Antonia's thick, black lashes; she pressed the pad of her thumb gently against the stark whiteness of the bandage wrapped around her wounded head.

Pulling away after these momentary touches, she stared again, and she realized something.

Under the bright lights of the Autobots' infirmary, Antonia didn't look small. She looked exceptionally small. Incredibly fragile. Impermanent.

_I'm going to lose her. _The surety of the thought was strong, so strong that it was almost a fact.

Her arms dropped to her sides. Her hands, trembling hard enough to rattle her to the very bone, gently clasped her one of daughter's between them.

Her lips twitching into an agonized, twisted version of a smile born of everything that ever hurt, a sad clown's scream of a toothy grin, she bent her head.

And she wept.

* * *

_This is no ordinary mistake._

Optimus Prime, straight-backed and silent, stared into the infirmary with an incomprehensible expression on his face. It appeared as if many different feelings from all over the emotional spectrum had collided to create it. Anxiety; agony, as though he were personally in some sort of pain; confusion; indignation; even the slightest traces of fear, all of it and then some intertwined together within his features and shrouded with the thinnest layer of undying, ethereal hope as he stared hard and long at the tiny, unconscious human-femme that lay lost amidst the sheets of her hastily-made hospital bed.

Time and time again, his gaze was drawn to the young woman beside their newest, unexpected patient, and he witnessed countless tears fall freely and shamelessly from her eyes. He could actually see them slip down the slope of her thin cheeks from where he stood, blocked from her vision by the one-way mirror that separated the infirmary and the observation deck.

Despite how cowardly it made him feel, at the moment, it was what he preferred. He had no immediate desire to confront the woman whose life he had indirectly but surely turned upside down. He knew that he'd have to show himself to her sometime, and sometime soon, as she undoubtedly wanted answers to explain what had happened to her daughter, but…he was not ready yet. He still had time to think.

What troubled his thoughts the most at the moment was the fact that the All Spark's remains had avoided detection for such an incredibly long time. How had _that_ happened?

His small group of soldiers hadn't been slacking in surveillance; never once had they gone a day, even a few hours, without running a scan for any new spark signatures throughout the residential area, followed by the United States of America, the entire western hemisphere and finally Earth itself. There had always been an Autobot present at the base, no matter what the hour, who was available to check and see if any signatures had been detected. Certainly the All Spark itself would've popped up immediately during one of these scans, yet, somehow...it had not.

This confusing fact disturbed him a great deal, and even with Starscream and Barricade still skulking around Mission City after escaping the Autobots' defensive attack, he had sent Ironhide, and reluctantly, William Lennox out to check the original site. He had a feeling that no shards remained there, but it was still early in the day; if there was something more to find, they'd find it easily in the light. He only hoped that Starscream would keep to himself, as would Barricade. Will was well-equipped enough to fend for his own life if Ironhide failed to protect him, but it didn't stop him from worrying. And, just as he had a feeling, an 'intuition', to quip a human term, that nothing remained at the original site, he had a feeling that both Decepticons had searched fruitlessly for it in the time the Autobots had spent attempting to save Antonia's life, and had found nothing.

Nonetheless, he wanted to be sure. It was, perhaps, the only thing he could be completely sure of at the moment.

Letting out a soft sigh, Optimus Prime lightly rested his helm against the thick, opaque mirror, his optics shuttering. Other thoughts collided restlessly in the back of his processor: Antonia's deteriorated condition; what the other children were currently up to, and if they were all right; when the Secretary of Defense was due to arrive. Any minute now, as a matter of fact.

Any minute.

This wasn't a meeting he was particularly looking forward to. Then again, ever since he'd denied the young man what he'd asked for, they hadn't been on wonderful terms. Perhaps any potential companionship between them had diminished with his own unexpected answer to the Secretary's question. Perhaps not. He certainly didn't expect to create any positive relationship today, anyway. No doubt the American government was in complete turmoil over this shocking incident and playing good cop with him was a rather low priority: a human being, an American citizen nonetheless, had been infected with the All Spark's remains and held the power to create whatever sentient, mechanical beings she wished, as proven by the tiny sparkling amusingly dubbed 'Telebot'. Said sparkling was currently refusing to transform out of his alternate form no matter the number of coaxings, but he would surely make himself known once Antonia awakened. If she ever did.

The government sectors closely involved with the Autobots were not just in turmoil; they were absolutely outraged, and for a good reason. They'd expected perfect protection from his team of soldiers, and admittedly, he had been wrong to attempt to fulfill those expectations; just as the human beings were imperfect, as was his race. He made mistakes, his companions made mistakes, this was obviously one of their biggest yet, and he didn't think any amount of explaining would be enough to convince the government that they'd been more than diligent in attempting to form some sort of stable security measures, that this had just somehow slipped past them.

However, he didn't think he even deserved the chance to do so. There was no excuse for _this_, for yet another group of innocents to become involved in their war. By no stretch of the imagination had it ended. Megatron had been defeated, that was true, but the war hadn't been won with his death. Starscream was still online, Barricade was still online, and both were still on Earth. Who knew how many other Decepticons were roaming around the universe and edging ever closer to the tiny planet that the Autobots had found a home away from home on, with a species that more or less accepted them, welcomed them?

All he could do was ready himself to defend Antonia, her mother, and her two friends from the Secretary of Defense and from anyone else who would want the four younglings under close scrutiny. There was no doubt in his mind that Thomas Duke would at least attempt to wrangle them away from his guard and place them under governmental supervision, if for no other reason than to stab him in the back.

His fingers tightened into useless fists at his sides, his helm still resting against the opaque divider. The issue was that Thomas wouldn't do it just to stab him in the back. He would do it for so much more than that...

"Excuse me?"

Optimus Prime jerked away from the one-way mirror in surprise, his optics snapping open, wide and bright. Taking a single thunderous step backward, he turned toward the door of the infirmary, his gaze falling on the small figure standing within its frame.

Pilar let out a squeak and stumbled against the automatic door. Her heart jumped to her throat in one painful leap; she tasted ugly adrenaline, felt the choking gallop of each quick beat.

The floor had rattled beneath her with that small step he'd taken. It had _rattled_.

"_Perdoname_," she whispered, her expression blanching as she stared up at the enormity of Optimus Prime, who was inspecting her curiously, a surprised gleam remaining in the light of his odd, bright eyes. _Dios_, he was so _big_; no amount of television coverage on the Autobots could've prepare her for a personal meeting with them, and despite the fact that she had been protected by one, had ridden within one, and had been ushered along by each and every one of them upon their arrival at the base, she'd been too preoccupied with Antonia's condition to really stop and stare. Now, however, with her daughter swinging in and out of consciousness with not a thing she could do to help her, she was determined to wring whatever answers she could out of anyone she came across, Autobot or human. Determined to do more than stop and stare. Or...she had been, anyway.

She was more likely to run away squealing and in a cold sweat than dare to question any of these mechanical beasts, much less their leader.

_Mierda, I should've just stayed in the room like a good little girl! I should've just waited! Someone would've come eventually!_ She stared at the gargantuan robot before her without much shame, unsure of whether or not her legs would work if she tried to stumble back into the infirmary.

Before she could give it a try, Optimus Prime lowered himself so that he was closer to her, resting on his knees and placing his hands against the floor.

"There is no reason for you to say sorry. In fact, it is I who should be asking for your forgiveness. Not the other way around." When he spoke, a deep, comforting voice rumbled from within his chest and throughout his body, causing the metallic floor to vibrate slightly with its force. This time, however, Pilar did not tremble.

Instead, she blinked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion at his words. She knew that the Autobots had disproved the theory that mechanical beings felt absolutely nothing, but she hadn't expected this, the request for forgiveness. It's not as though they had forced the All Spark into Antonia's body.

"...You saved her life," Pilar finally managed, her eyes searching his face intently. Tears were threatening to spill yet again, but she no longer had the energy to stop them; her voice was scratchy and hitching, but she couldn't find enough within herself to care. "She could be dead, or worse...she could be...with those...the Decepticons. But she's not. She's here and she's safe. She may not be awake, but she's safe, and that's all that matters to me." She absently nudged away the single tear that had slipped free from her welling eyes with one slumped shoulder before locking gazes with him. The shock had returned to them, adding to the bright, blue light of his optics.

"There are no reasons for any 'I'm sorry's," she continued quietly. "My daughter is safe with you. You have done what you can for her, and when she awakens, we will do what we can for you. She holds something inside of her that is very important to you...?"

All he could do was nod, his optics still glued to her agonized face, her sullen expression.

"Yes...Well, when she awakens, we will do whatever we can for you. Because that is what you did for her. For me." She took a tentative step forward, edging just a fraction closer to him. Even with his shadow cast against her, her eyes glistened, suggesting how hard it was for her to believe in the want, the desire, for Antonia to be all right despite all odds.

How much it hurt to have faith in a coin toss.

"You saved her life," she repeated softly, finally dropping her gaze from his face, staring through the one-way mirror at her unconscious daughter. "For that, I owe you my life.

"Thank you."

She inclined her head to him gratefully, not knowing what else to do, what else to say. Because he stayed silent, staring at her with two bright gaslights of eyes illuminated with an odd mixture of respect, gratitude, and something else, something she didn't quite catch before it was gone, she retreated to the one-way mirror and positioned herself there, her bottom lip trembling, her arms wrapped loosely around herself.

Optimus Prime's spark flickered, his gaze still locked on the trembling silhouette of one of his newest charges. She had dismissed his apology, she had promised to help him in whatever way she could, she had thanked him, most likely the one and only 'Thank you' he'd receive in the duration of the day. He'd remember it, too, even when he was being condemned by the Secretary of Defense, even when he was wishing that Keller had remained in his position; Keller, who wouldn't jump to conclusions, compared to Duke, who would.

He would remember that she, a young, human femme, had shown more control, maturity and acceptance than was expected. Even biting her tongue to keep her weeping silent, she was showing this. She'd let only a single tear fall.

In that instant, she seemed old in every way but the literal one, as though she had lived a long time.

Reaching out very carefully as to not scare her, he ran the tip of his finger down her back in a desperate attempt at comfort, his optics beginning to dim.

"Please...do not - "

"Optimus Prime."

_Oh, slag it all._

Giving one last, quick glance through the one-way mirror, he let his hand drop from her back to the floor with a loud clang.

Pilar turned, rubbing at her wet eyes and slipping loose locks of hair behind her ears, scrutinizing the new arrival with dim curiosity.

When she realized who it was, she rested her own hand atop Optimus Prime's without much thought, a knee-jerk reaction. From where he sat, he heard, felt, her heart beat quicken.

There was silence as Optimus observed the young man, too young, he believed, to hold such a position.

"Secretary of Defense," he rumbled softly. "Good morning."


	18. Chapter XVIII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XVIII_

He'd had a small group of friends in high school, if one could call the collection of misfits they'd formed together such a word, and it was their faces that appeared in his thoughts as he allowed his mind to drift. They were the kinds of companions he had never done much with outside of school, but whom he had said 'Hello' to and exchanged small talk with between and during classes, just for the sake of having someone other than Miles to speak to.

There was an ache in his chest as he remembered the lanky, clumsy, thick-headed blond who'd stuck by his side through thick and thin but who he'd abandoned in the most vicious yet completely unintentional way after that year-ago 'incident'. It wasn't his fault, nor was it Miles's, that he rolled with giant alien robots and the prettiest piece of eye candy now, and although it didn't stop the guilt of his sudden disconnection with his former best friend from rising to the surface, it was an old guilt. It didn't pain him as much as it used to.

Unfortunately, the faces, or rather, the face that appeared after those of his old friends was Trent's, followed by the rest of his muscle-bound tormentors, most of whom were members of the Tranquility High football team.

Football: that was the only connection Sam had been able to create between Tyler Eller and those old bullies; the good ol' all-American game of football.

So why, exactly, was he so scared of him?

_You know why,_ he thought to himself as he snuck another quick glance at his fellow senior, who was currently gaping at Ratchet with the most amusing expression of utter shock Sam had ever seen. _You don't like thinking of school because you were a nobody back then, and, surprise surprise: he reminds you of school._

Trailing this realization was another one: _It's the kid's jacket. His high school jacket._

Sam fidgeted. He didn't think he could be blamed for repressing those dismal memories Tranquility High. His high school experience had sucked. He _wanted_ to forget it, especially when he had such an amazing life now that he had let something so normal as school go in exchange for permanent companionship with the Autobots.

However, he supposed he could be blamed for feeling frightened, even angry, with Tyler merely because he unintentionally and obliviously reminded him of everything that he'd chosen to forget. It wasn't Tyler's fault that attached to his heels were the ugliest of memories, not of Tyler himself, who didn't even go to the same school, but of Tranquility High and his nonexistent social life at Tranquility High.

_Let it go already!_ his conscience suddenly snapped at him, causing him to nearly wince yet again at the force behind its chastising voice._ Before was before. Now is now. High school and hot-headed bullies like Trent don't stand up to what you've faced since then, and the fact that you were little more than a quiet loser doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that Tyler looks extremely confused, worried, and out-of-place. He isn't Trent, Sam. He's just plays football. Do yourself a favor and stop being such a baby._

"Sam?"

Sam jerked a little, blinking at the unexpected closeness of his guardian's curious, bright blue optics, the mech's sunny expression mere inches away from his own. He scowled in playful irritation and gently nudged Bumblebee's face away. "Don't _do_ that! I was zoned out. You scared the hell outta me."

Bumblebee backed up a little, though he still remained relatively close, his door-wings twitching as he observed Sam expectantly with his head cocked to one side. "What were you thinking about?" he asked, one finger raised and pointed at his charge's chest.

Sam frowned. "...It's...it's nothin'," he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders and giving his messed mop a hopeless run-through with his fingers.

Bumblebee raised an optic ridge. "You are a horrible liar, Samuel James Witwicky."

Even when met with Bumblebee's obvious disbelief, he didn't elaborate. There were some things, purely _human_ things, purely _adolescent human_ things, that the Autobots wouldn't understand even if explained to, and that Sam wouldn't have wanted to share anyway, even if there _was_ a chance that they could commiserate with him. It was too embarrassing to think of telling them who he had been before he'd saved the planet, before they'd arrived, changing him into someone more than he could've ever hoped to be on his own.

_Stop being such a baby._

Giving Tyler another side-long glance, he heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back against his palms, his legs swinging absently, two identical pendulums.

"It's nothin'."

* * *

"Oh, no way, man. No _way_."

Ratchet let the soft wind of a sigh slip from his intakes, pushing himself to his feet and turning to stare at one of their four newest charges, his hands planted on his hips.

_What a surprise,_ he thought cynically. _The boy can talk._

Tyler Eller hadn't spoken a single word the entire time both he and his younger companion, Zachary, had been in the medical berth. That wasn't so unusual; being up close and personal with giant robots would take some getting used to, and even with the media coverage that had been done on the Autobots, they were most likely still in shock.

What _was_ unusual was the strange way the two younglings kept exchanging silent glances, as though they were communicating without the use of words or gestures. The medic knew that this was impossible. Human beings hadn't mastered the art of telepathy from what he'd studied; even Cybertronians couldn't use it. A communications link could be set up between a group of mechs, and there was the thought connection that came within the package of a spark bond, but admittedly, neither of those things could be considered telepathy.

Yet, these children had shot each other fleeting glances, most of them bathed in an odd mixture of fear, curiosity, and anxiety. It was as though they were having some sort of silent fight as to whether or not one of them should speak, say something, ask a question.

Mr. Eller had lost that fight, but not without a little provoking on his own part.

"What?" Ratchet questioned, exasperated. _So help me Primus, if he puts up a fight, he'll have a wrench through his head in record time._

Tyler stared at the Autobot medic, his jaw unhinged with disbelief, one eye letting out an unintentional twitch. "Do I even have to explain?"

From across the room, Sam and Bumblebee raised their heads at the sound of Tyler's high-pitched whine.

"There is no way, _no way_, I am using a wheelchair!" the bulky blond stuttered weakly, throwing his hands into the air as though the idea of him having to resort to a wheelchair in order to move was an abstract, unheard-of one. Apparently, he didn't understand what shape his left leg was currently in, and as much as Ratchet would've enjoyed explaining in full detail how completely and utterly ruined it was as a result from his running on it - _Running on a broken limb, how did he manage that?_ - he truly did not believe that said explanation would matter much to Tyler. It wouldn't change the fact that he would have to use a wheelchair.

Given the state of agony the boy was in over his current situation, Ratchet wisely decided that letting him know crutches weren't an option, that this was his only one, was probably not the best idea.

Observing the blanched expression on Tyler's face, the only real, noticeable reaction he'd had to anything since arriving at the base, Ratchet shrugged his shoulders and turned to retrieve the folded wheelchair from the small section of human medical equipment he kept in the bay. He'd acquired the assortment with their charges in mind because he always wanted to be prepared, as he'd known that there would be a time when his collection would come in handy. What he hadn't known was that it would be for a youngling he'd never met nor seen before.

Gently grasping the mechanism in his hand, he made his way back to the lowered medical berth and set it before the two teenagers, meeting Tyler's widened, disbelieving eyes with his own bright optics.

"My apologies, Mr. Eller, but doctor's orders." With that said, he pointed to the chair.

Tyler finally dropped his eyes from Ratchet's and turned to Zachary, who had been just as quiet, just as thoughtful, as he had been up until Tyler's outburst moments before. Looking a little silly with a bandage placed over his wounded eye, Zachary blinked his single good one and met Tyler's gaze inquiringly.

"Do you agree to this blasphemy?" Tyler hissed, one finger pointed accusingly at the wheelchair. "Are you really so much of a quack that you think I need a wheelchair?"

Before Ratchet could react to his medical intelligence being questioned by a _human child_, Zach, looking completely unperturbed by Tyler's tone of voice, nodded. "You shouldn't have run on that leg, Ty...I don't really even understand how it's possible that you did - "

"It was run or die, ginger! You were there, remember?"

" - Somehow, you managed it, and you probably broke it again after I snapped it back into place last night. The best thing for you right now would be to keep off of it for a bit unless you want to have some screwed-up left leg for the rest of your life. But if that's what you want, Mr. Bigshot Football Jock, I'll be the first one to give you a cane and wish you well." One light eyebrow cocked, Zachary glanced down at his glasses, which he'd pulled from his pockets, inspecting the series of cracks within their lenses. "And don't call me ginger, blondie."

Tyler looked at a loss, glancing between the impending doom of the wheelchair and Zachary, his head still bent over his ruined glasses. Then, heaving an exaggerated sigh, he carefully pushed himself to his feet, one leg re-cast within an itchy bulk of medical tape, gauze, and plaster, and unsteadily stumbled off to meet his newest mode of transportation.

"Bunch of morons..." he grumbled, just loud enough for both Zach and Ratchet to hear, causing a dignified _Hmph_ from the latter. "I don't need a damn _rolling chair_, I am not a damn _cripple_..."

Settling himself in the wheelchair, he adjusted his legs against its protruding pedals and tested it out, rolling his hands along the wheels and looking reluctantly interested in the easy way he could move around. He zipped back and forth a few times, and then attempted a turn which, after a bit of difficulty, he executed in a clumsy skid.

The distraught expression that had been on his face disappeared, replaced with a goofy, delighted grin that he nearly blinded Zach with, as intended.

"I am Tyler!" he suddenly proclaimed in a deep voice, throwing his hands up into the air exuberantly, "Lord of the Cyborgs! Half man, half machine, one hundred percent _sexy_!"

Leaving Zach giggling softly and Ratchet to stare after him in utter confusion, Tyler raced across the med bay, cackling madly at the speed he was achieving as a self-proclaimed cyborg.

After listening to the bulky blond race around like a madman, Ratchet looked down at Zachary, who had given up hope in the revival of his glasses and dropped them nonchalantly at his side. Feeling the medic's gaze on him, Zach glanced up, trying desperately not to squint. He didn't want to look any sillier than he already did, given his eye patch. _I must look like a pirate reject,_ he thought distractedly.

They observed each other, sizing one another up; in Zach's case, as best as he could without being able to see much more than blotches of color. Finally, Ratchet extended one finger in an attempt at a formal greeting. Blinking once, Zach tentatively reached out and placed his hand on its tip, shaking it.

"...So," the medic started, letting his hand drop to his side and bending down so that he and Zach were more or less eye-level. "You are...a doctor, youngling?"

Zach grinned sheepishly, rubbing the sling resting against his chest. "No, no...My parents are. They've had me following in their footsteps since I was old enough to start learning, though. That's the reason I was able to help Tyler, little that it did for him, and that's the reason the big buffoon called me a moron. He doesn't mean it, you know," he added quickly, gesturing toward Ratchet with a quick nod. "He's just...a goof."

"Indeed," Ratchet agreed, his optics alight with interest as he continued to observe the teen.

The two when interrupted by a screech of rubber against metal, followed by a loud, obnoxious clatter and a hollow thump. Both medics, young and old, exchanged a quick glance before looking toward the source of the sounds, just as Tyler let out a wounded snicker.

"Ow...not cool, not cool at all..."

There was a soft shuffle as he attempted to right himself to obviously no avail, and letting out a mockingly-agonized moan that ended in a laugh, he began to worm across the cold floor, trying to free his legs from where they were trapped beneath the toppled wheelchair. "Oh God, I've fallen and I can't get up! Life Aleeeeert...Liiiiiife Alerrrr - "

"Well, I'm not Life Alert, but let me help you anyway, huh?"

Tyler stopped his useless wriggling as the wheelchair was lifted off of his legs and settled right-side up beside him. Two arms then looped under his own, and attempted to sit him up, trembling slightly with the effort. Easily pushing himself into a sitting position with the aid given, he swerved clumsily around to face Sam Witwicky, Bumblebee glancing curiously at him from over the boy's shoulder.

"Going a little too fast, Lord of the Cyborgs?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised, reaching a hand out to help pull Tyler up completely.

Latching onto Sam's wrist, Tyler grinned, and with his help, got to his feet. "You can never go too fast. I just need to learn to control it."

"Good luck with that."

Watching the blond collapse into his wheelchair, Sam glanced down uneasily, unsure of what to say. He didn't need to introduce himself. No doubt he was well-known enough, however conceited that fact sounded. _Might as well just throw it out there._

Letting out a soft sigh, Sam raised his head and offered Tyler a small, friendly smile. "...Uh...hey. I'm Sam. I - "

"You're the Autobot kid," Tyler interrupted, flashing him a lopsided smile. "I know who you are, dude. Everyone does. My name's Tyler Eller."

"Y-yeah, I figured you'd know me..."

There was a small bout of awkward silence as they both inspected each other, wondering what to say next.

The quiet was finally broken by Tyler, his expression unexpectedly thoughtful. "I always wondered how you and Mikaela were doing after you left Tranquility High. How it was with the Autobots." His eyes glanced up at Bumblebee before landing back on Sam, and his smile widened as he shrugged. "I guess I'll get a first-hand experience."

Before Sam could respond, Ratchet approached with Zachary sitting stiffly on his right shoulder. He ignored both Tyler and Sam, staring hard at Bumblebee, irritation melted into his features.

"_He_ is here. Just walked past as though he owns the place," he muttered, scowling. "Why Prime gave him an admittance card is beyond me..."

"Who?" Tyler interrupted, looking over his shoulder at the grouching medic, his eyebrows arched curiously.

"An unhappy little slagger by the name of Thomas Duke," Ratchet grumbled. "It is his apparent duty to make our lives more difficult than they already are."

"Thomas Duke, as in...the Secretary of Defense?" Zach whispered, his single un-patched eye wide with astonishment.

"The very one," Ratchet replied shortly. "Don't get excited over his arrival, Zachary. He is nothing like the man he portrays, and I have a feeling that I know why he is here."

"Why's that?" the redhead asked, gripping Ratchet's shoulder plate as the medic turned toward the bay's gargantuan door. Sam, Tyler, and Bumblebee followed, with Sam walking along beside Tyler's wheelchair and Bumblebee bringing up the rear.

Ratchet let out another sigh, his optics dimming as he turned into the hallway, headed toward the infirmary.

"He wants Antonia."


	19. Chapter XIX

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XIX_

"Shorry fer takin' s'long..."

Her mumbled voice, further muffled by the plastic barrier of shopping bags, snapped the Autobot second-in-command out of his reverie and back to the present.

"No problem, kiddo. Not like I had anything better to do," he replied good-naturedly. His engine rumbling out a roar as he forced himself to focus, he observed Mikaela Banes, or what he could see of her, through the glass of the passenger window.

The sweet, deep noise that followed the smooth growl of his engine was a chuckle, charming and pleasant.

"Wow. Think you got enough?"

The brunette let out an exasperated sigh in response. Plastic shopping bags were slung through her arms, weighed down and full to their brims. More were gathered, pressed against her chest, her hands trembling in an attempt to keep them from toppling from her grasp. If he wasn't mistaken, there was even one or two hanging from her clenched teeth.

"I hope sho," she managed, stumbling her way to his back door and shifting her hold so that she could free a hand to wrench it open. Instead, before she caused an avalanche and was buried beneath everything she'd decided was worth buying, he opened it for her, watching curiously as she settled her load of goods carefully, one by one, onto the seats and the floor. When that was finished, she smoothed the wrinkles from her tank top, gathered her stray curls into a loose ponytail and made her way to the front seat, looking utterly exhausted.

Granted, she had been gone a reasonably long amount of time, but Jazz hadn't known that the seemingly simple act of "shopping" could drain a human's energy to such a low point.

Mikaela dropped her purse into the passenger's seat before crawling in after it, collapsing against the comfortable upholstery with another sigh.

"It better be enough," she growled, rubbing her eyes wearily as Jazz backed out of the parking space and then drove out of the mall's crowded lot and onto the highway. The teen never once touched the wheel, choosing instead to slump across the connected front seats, knocking her purse to the floor as she attempted to find a comfortable position. "If it isn't, Optimus is going to have to go shopping himself. I'm finished."

Jazz laughed again, expertly shifting between lines of cars, moving like a batch of quicksilver. "Take it as a compliment, shorty," he teased. "He knows you're the only one he can rely on to get everything our new charges would need. I mean, personally...I couldn't imagine Sam or Will attemptin' to buy...uh, _feminine products_."

Mikaela giggled at the thought, finally giving up in her attempt to find a reasonable position and choosing to sit upright in the seat, her legs tucked against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She rested her chin in the slope that her knees created, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I guess that's true...I mean, I wasn't gone that long, but I started to realize how much stuff "Get everything they would need" covered. Thank God the military's paying for all of this...Anyway, we have beds and blankets and things like that at the base, plus a lot more general, every-day things, but I don't think Pilar and Antonia can go back home by themselves, can they? They're...they're going to be missing a lot."

Jazz was quiet, the car silent but for the soft purr of his engine as he thought this new piece of information over. There was a chance that when Optimus Prime realized how much their newest charges would be missing, he'd allow them, or someone, to go back to their home and retrieve as much of it as they possibly could. If anything, it would be Pilar who did so; as far as Jazz was concerned, their tiny charge Antonia wasn't going anywhere the Decepticons could reach her. They'd been able to shake off Starscream and Barricade relatively easily that morning, as it had been three against two, but to their credit, the two Decepticons knew that once Antonia and the All Spark had been picked up by Ratchet, there wasn't much point in continuing the early-morning fight. They'd high-tailed aft out of there as soon as she was gone, and had made themselves scarce since.

His guess as to whether the Decepticons had somehow found out where Antonia and Pilar lived was as good as anyone's, but even thinking about it made him nervous. _They could be waiting there, right now, for someone to come along and -_

"Autobot Ratchet to Autobot Jazz." The medic's deep voice rumbled unexpectedly from the radio, surprising him away from his train of thought. The tiny mech noticed Mikaela's curious expression as she listened in; there was something oddly tight about Ratchet's tone, something tense.

"Right here, my man. How's it goin' there? You all right?" Jazz replied as light-heartedly as he could.

Ratchet wasted no time on pleasantries. "He's here."

Jazz's engine revved, his tires shrieking in a sudden burst of speed. As Mikaela was pressed back against the front seat, her fingernails digging into the Autobot's soft upholstery and her eyes wide with surprise, Jazz replied to the medic with no humor or easiness left in his voice.

"Give me five minutes."

* * *

Tens upon tens of voices whispered, screamed, roared, sobbed, and laughed; high pitches, low pitches, hoarse and smooth, deep and weak. Just as before, when she had been knocked unconscious with the very force of the All Spark's need, these voices propelled themselves through her darkened mind like ugly echoes. She could catch certain words, certain names, but never a complete sentence, never a full thought.

Beneath them all ran an unending hiss of pure, raw power, a streak of steady, bright blue static.

_Silence._

The voices died, disappearing as though they had been turned off with some sort of switch. All that was left was the soft, steady energy, quiet and thoughtful: the All Spark.

Antonia merely waited. Somehow, in the course of what had happened, the fact that the All Spark had a voice of its own wasn't as scary as it would have seemed to her earlier. In actuality, it made a lot of sense; if she wasn't mistaken, the All Spark was the robot (_Cybertronian_) equivalent of God, and God had a voice, as far as she knew. The All Spark should as well.

_I am not God. Or a god. I am sentient to an extent, but I am merely energy...Sentient energy _can_ have a voice,_ it added, almost as an afterthought, as though it made perfect sense.

_Am I supposed to understand that?_ she thought distractedly. _Or am I going to spend the rest of my life listening to some alien god-thing speak Dr. Suess rhymes in my head?_ Her initial confusion faded as anger rose within her, daubing her subconscious presence with a bitter edge. She couldn't help but feel unnerved at the idea that the All Spark was keeping her in the realm of unconsciousness to chatter away, to confuse her.

A new thought wormed its way into her mind, and she bristled, her bitterness deepening, as soon as she was able to comprehend it.

_You're killing me, aren't you?_ she suddenly accused the bright static, the incomplete force.

Amusement, soft and pink, threaded itself through the bright blue. _Why would I want to kill my life source?_ it questioned.

_You're _killing_ me, aren't you?_

There was a small bout of silence before it replied in its strange voice, a voice that was neither male nor female, but a perfect balance between the two. _No, I am not killing you, but I was not expecting you to injure yourself so horribly. That is what has taken the greatest toll on you thus far. That head wound._

_Do you think I did it on purpose?_ she hissed furiously. _Do you think -_

_Control yourself, human. I never once insinuated that you purposely cracked your fragile skull open. Why would you do such a thing?_ it mused. _And while I realize and fully understand your anger with me, you must stop jumping to these silly conclusions about who I am, what I say, and what I do. It will do nothing for either of us._

Sadness, worry, fright, and fury collided in an explosion of heat at its answer, and in their shared level of unconsciousness, she felt the All Spark flinch away from her. _Why should I care about doing anything to help you at all?_ Antonia retorted. You're_ the one using me as nothing more than a resource, _you're_ the one hurting me, and _you're _the one putting me and my mom, my friends, in danger! I didn't want this, to have you inside of me and sharing my mind, my body, my energy! I didn't want to take the place of what you used to be! I didn't want to be bait in this alien war that I don't even understand! I...You, just..._y-you_! _You've_ ruined my life, do you know that? _Ruined_ it! I didn't want to help you, I don't want to help you, and I never do want to help you, so get out of me! Leave me alone!_

_Just leave me alone!_

Her angry words echoed away. The soft thrum of the All Spark reverberating through the recesses of her mind was the only sound that could be heard.

It was broken when the being, the energy, the sentience, let out the closest thing to a sigh that it was capable of.

_Small one,_ it murmured, sounding both confused and disappointed. _Why must it be about you?_

This caught her by surprise, and for once, Antonia did not know how to respond. The whispered question was the one she had least expected. She didn't know why. The defense for her life had just come naturally; she couldn't justify it.

The All Spark continued in its genderless tone. _You are young and you are selfish. I've inspected your memories, your thoughts, enough to know that this is true._

Her mother's face, tear-stained and pained, appeared before her unconscious vision before disappearing just as quickly, fading like the after-image of a lightning strike.

_Because of this, I cannot be sure whether or not you will understand or accept what I am about to share with you. However, I am willing to take my chances and hope that, perhaps, there is more to you than meets the eye._

_Ever since I was sacrificed to save your planet from its impending extinction, Optimus Prime and the Autobots have been at a loss. They have little to no communication or information on the whereabouts of their fellow soldiers, who are currently lost amongst the stars, in hiding, offline, or, in most cases, searching for their leader. Our home planet Cybertron was destroyed during the Autobot and Decepticon war and can no longer sustain life, Cybertronian or otherwise. The femmes, or females, of the Cybertronian race, Optimus Prime's and Ironhide's sparkmates included, are offline. Dead. There is still a chance that some remain, hidden or protected by small factions of soldiers, but the Autobots have no way of reaching them from where they reside on Earth, therefore unable to create any sort of relationship or bond and, in effect, produce a sparkling: a child. The same goes for what's left of the Decepticons._

_Do you understand what all of this means, human?_

Antonia desperately attempted to process the entire explanation at once, and was unable to do so. _Sparkmates, femmes, Cybertron, offline..._

After a few seconds of befuddled comprehension, she understood the gist of what the All Spark was saying, but she hoped, very strongly, that she was wrong.

_Are you saying that there's no hope for the Autobots anymore? _Antonia asked._ They can't...continue their race? This is it?_

_That is exactly what I am saying,_ the All Spark replied. _However, you've forgotten to take into account one very important thing, and that, Antonia, is me. I am still alive. Trapped within a human body and forced to feed off of another being's personal energy like some sort of leech, but online nonetheless. I have the capability of producing Cybertronian life, as demonstrated with the production of your sparkling, Telebot._

Despite her current situation, Antonia managed to feel a little amused. She remembered telling her mother that Telebot was her baby, but she'd only said it in jest. She hadn't meant it. _But...I didn't have Telebot. I didn't, you know -_

_Yes, I do know. But you still brought him to life. You are his creator, and the closest human term I can reciprocate that position with would be 'mother'. If you had been male, you would have been Telebot's father._

Before Antonia could dwell on this any longer, the All Spark continued.

_As I was saying, I am still online, and with the All Spark in play once again there is hope that the Cybertonian race will continue, even without the presence of femmes._

She felt a pair of eyes that she couldn't see observing her expectantly, and she shifted beneath its gaze.

_There will be pain, Antonia. There will be physical pain, emotional pain, and mental pain that accompanies sharing your body with my remains. I require quite a bit of energy, and you must supply it._

_There will be the possibility of danger, of death, for both yourself and your family members, your friends, around every turn. The Decepticons will stop at nothing to find me, to have me, but they will feel nothing for you._

_They are not your only enemies._

_Despite this, despite all of this, and despite what I've seen of you so far... _It paused._ I know that you can handle everything I have explained. You are willing to go to great lengths to protect others, putting yourself at risk in their place, and for that reason I happen to believe that you are the perfect guardian of the All Spark. This personality aspect could cause a backlash under certain circumstances, but we will cross that bridge when we come to it, if we ever do._

_You can do this, Antonia. You can save an entire race from extinction by keeping me alive. However, you must be willing to do it. You must be willing, or I will die._

Those eyes again, on her. Waiting. Hoping. Strong and bright.

_Are you selfish enough to send the Cybertronians to their ultimate extinction? Or all you willing to save them, as the Autobots have saved your home planet?_

In immediate response were her thoughts, thousands of thoughts, voicing against the All Spark, for the All Spark. Memories upon memories: Tyler, with his sweet-hearted face, his lopsided smile, his collection of voices; Zachary, those small, quick grins, his shy intelligence, his ginger locks and matching freckles; her mother, her innocent inability to hurt another, her words instead of her fists, long, black hair. Her bruises.

_You're putting them all in danger willing to risk their lives for an alien species -_  
_But they saved you saved your home planet the Autobots helped they -_  
_THEY DON'T MATTER MAMA MATTERS ZACH MATTERS TYLER MATTERS -_  
_How can you destroy an entire race how can you allow that to happen how -_

_The Autobots didn't let you down. They gave up the All Spark to save Earth and its inhabitants,_ a particularly strong thought voiced. _Why don't you return the favor, and give them the hope that they originally had?_

_Saved you. Saved Earth. Saved everyone._  
_Extinction. Cybertron. Offline. Lost._  
_Saved you._

Within the depth of unconsciousness, the strong, blue static of the All Spark keeping the darkness of a coma's sleep at bay, Antonia reached out for it, for something to hold on to because everything was confusing and painful and loud. Everything hurt so much.

_I'll help_, she whispered. _I'll help them, I promise. I'm not that selfish. I'm not bad. I want to help. Please, let me help. Please._

_I knew that, Antonia_, The All Spark, the energy, the sentience, the force, strong and true, leaned into her touch. _I knew that already._

Subconsciousness, the ache, the pain, her shared thoughts, the All Spark, all of it faded, as though someone had drawn open the curtains, had let the light in.

Antonia opened her eyes.


	20. Chapter XX

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XX  
_

Ever since the former Secretary of Defense, Jonathon Keller, had been forced to resign from his position, leaving Thomas Duke in his place, there had not been the slightest chance of friendship, respect, or even acceptance between the Autobots and the young man who had stepped up to fill shoes that were, unfortunately, a few sizes too big to fit him properly. Even if he had said yes to Thomas's request and had allowed the American military to experiment with Cybertronian technology for their own purposes, Thomas would not have been satisfied, nor would he have become an Autobot "friend" by any stretch of the imagination. He would have used the "friendship", scrambling back for more, and more, and more, a false smile plastered on his hardened face as he promised that it would be _the last time_.

He didn't believe, or, perhaps, didn't _want_ to believe, that Thomas was actually as bad as he appeared to be. He wanted to believe instead that the position he was currently in was what was contorting him into someone he was not, and that he had never stood the slightest chance because there wasn't a single member of the United States government who had an inkling of faith in him for no other reason than the fact that he was the youngest Secretary of Defense on record. He wanted to believe that very, very badly, because despite every obvious fault that flawed Thomas's personality, he refused to give into the idea that he was a naturally negative human being. He _must_ merely be reacting to the rejection of his request.

He wished with all of his spark that Thomas would stop reacting before his patience wore out completely.

It was true that he had unknowingly crushed Thomas's one fleeting hope to prove himself to the numerous officials who doubted him, but surely he could find another way to verify his worth.

_Well, then again, he _is_ the Secretary of Defense; incorporating our advanced technology in the defensive systems of America was a good idea on his part, but..._

But even he knew that the Cybertronian technology wouldn't be used for mere defense. There had been a gleam, a hint, in Thomas's gray eyes on the night he'd visited the Autobot base that had suggested that he had something else in mind, and that something else might've been used against the other civilizations that inhabited this planet. Being the Autobot leader, he could not put millions upon millions of others at risk and favor one nation over another to assure already-affirmed safety for a single country. Granted, he hadn't known for sure whether or not Thomas had had specific plans for their shared technology, but he just couldn't take the chance, nor could he act as though the Autobots were "playing favorites". They resided in America, that was true, but as far as human political situations went, they were and would remain neutral.

He wanted to believe that Thomas Duke was not a bad man.

He wanted to, but it becoming harder and harder to convince himself to turn the other cheek, especially when the young human insisted on treating him with absolutely no respect, going so far as to address him more often than not as Tin Man.

Observing the Secretary of Defense with a considerably diminished amount of pity, Optimus Prime waited for him to get whatever he wanted to say or do over with. He had plenty of other things that deserved his immediate attention.

Thomas's gray gaze shifted from Optimus's face to Pilar's olive one, his thin lips slipping into a lopsided shark's smile. He let out an absent '"Huh" as he took notice of Pilar's fingers tightly gripping Optimus's thumb, an action she didn't seem entirely aware of.

"I was expecting a warmer welcome," he chuckled humorlessly, his smile widening a fraction of an inch when Pilar winced at the unwelcome noise.

Optimus tipped his head slightly to the side, his bright optics never leaving Thomas's unpleasant expression. "Forgive me, Secretary. No one is feeling particularly warm, considering our current situation." With that, he nodded toward the observation deck's one-way window.

Thomas's smirk was gone in seconds, his features darkening as he lost interest in the Autobot and his newest charge, stepping around them and placing himself in front of the thick, opaque window, his hands locked self-importantly behind his back. He didn't say a word.

An uncomfortably long bout of silence passed. Pilar eventually noticed her tight grip and unclasped her fingers from Optimus's thumb, flexing and kneading them absently as her eyes searched Thomas's silhouette in the dim light. Impatience and curiosity beginning to grow, she glanced up at the Autobot leader, her eyebrows raised in question. Optimus met her gaze and shook his head, remaining silent and patient, though Thomas's lack of explanation was starting to make him uneasy as well. There was no knowing as to what the man could be thinking, but he could certainly guess.

When Thomas finally spoke, his shoulders and back remained purposefully straight and his voice was low, dangerous.

"You do realize that this is entirely your fault, Optimus Prime."

His optics dimmed to a soft shade of blue as he nodded. "Yes, I do. I take full responsibility for what has happened, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to help Antonia as well as everyone else involved. Ratchet will - "

"He will do absolutely _nothing_, and neither will you," Thomas interrupted, finally swiveling from the glass to face Optimus Prime. His eyes had hardened to an unearthly gray, yet, somehow, he managed to look amused and victorious as well as incredibly fierce, creating one of the ugliest expressions the Autobot had ever seen.

_This is his moment of triumph,_ Optimus realized absently, dread beginning to suffocate his spark._ He is going to claim Antonia for the American government because he believes he has that sort of power, and he is going to use her, abuse the All Spark's power. He is going to receive what I denied him months ago without even trying._

Trailing this thought came one that was somehow scarier: _He may not have the power to take her away, but then again...do I have the power to keep her here? Do I have the power, the right, to stop him?_

Pilar's fingers were gripping the tip of his thumb again, and he could feel the quick, uneasy pulse of her heart beat against the inside of her wrist. She was trembling.

"Antonia is coming with me," Thomas continued, his vicious, satisfied gaze never leaving the Autobot's. "She obviously isn't safe in your care. I mean, you didn't even detect the All Spark's remains! What's your excuse going to be if you lose Antonia to the Decepticons, if she too goes magically _undetected_? Or will you even notice if that happens?"

"That would never - !"

"You're finished, Optimus. Do you understand that? You somehow managed to get a human child infected with whatever sick, alien life you brought to this planet! How do you think the public will feel about that? Her fellow human beings? Hm?" He gestured toward Pilar, who hardly even noticed him; her lips were parted into a perfect circle of surprise, her eyes wide. "How do you think her mother will feel, when - "

"Antonia!"

Pilar lunged forward and pushed passed the shocked Secretary of Defense, causing him to stumble into the wall, his cheeks pale but for two bright red spots of angry, disbelieving color. She raced toward the open infirmary door and scooped up the tiny, exhausted figure that was standing within its frame, her arms and neck glowing softly with a sleepy blue light. Crushing Antonia to her chest, Pilar buried her face into the choppy, mussed locks of her daughter's hair and wept weakly. As her mother swung her back and forth, Antonia hugged Pilar back, but her eyes, brooding and suspicious, owlish, were locked on Thomas.

The Secretary of Defense's own eyes widened, the unearthly gray color of his irises fading to the pallor of wet cement as the ferocity drained from him almost as quickly as it had arrived. He placed a trembling hand on the wall behind him, holding himself up, trying to draw his gaze from Antonia's yet unable to do so.

If he didn't know any better, the emotions that were flickering across her expression suggested that she had heard every single word that had been exchanged between him and Optimus Prime, yet he hadn't even noticed her standing in the doorway until Pilar had called out her name. Some nagging surety in the back of his mind told him that she had not, in fact, overheard everything, yet knew all about it; all about his plans to keep her under his supervision, perhaps even the plans he had for her that he hadn't voiced aloud. Considering the way she was staring at him, she would have absolutely no part in it.

The Autobots clearly weren't going to let him snatch Antonia away. Her mother, from the way she appeared to be more frightened of him than of Optimus Prime, most likely would rather have her daughter in their care. William Lennox and Reggie Simmons, the duo in charge of the team that represented the Autobots, would do whatever it took to keep him from having her, and would most likely succeed in keeping her out of his reach because they had earned an incredible amount of respect, while he had not.

He couldn't think of a reason why he _should_ be placed in charge of Antonia's welfare. The President and the Vice President wouldn't be able to think of one, either.

_Because there isn't one, _he thought absently.

A soft hiss escaped the observation deck's doors as they shifted open behind him, and he quickly turned around, watching as the plates of thick metal pulled away to reveal an interesting group of humans and Autobots, all of whom were conversing quite loudly. A teenage boy in a wheelchair led them in, followed closely by Sam Witwicky and his guardian Bumblebee, Mikaela Banes sitting tucked against the yellow mech's shoulder. Behind Bumblebee were Jazz, Ratchet, and Ironhide, the latter two carrying a human within their cupped hands. Ratchet's companion was a redhead wearing some sort of bandage over his eye, with a sling hanging loosely around his neck. Ironhide's was William Lennox.

As soon as the odd collection noticed him standing pressed against the wall, all conversation ceased. He could have sworn that each pair of Autobot optics narrowed at the same instant, with the exception of Optimus Prime's. The newest human charges looked on with vague curiosity while Sam, Mikaela, and Will, who had grown to know him well since he'd taken Keller's place, glared.

It was then that he fully realized how incredibly alone he was. He was an enemy among friends, an outcast surrounded by huge, alien robots who hated his guts and could crush him into a mangled pulp with a single finger.

He gulped back a moan.

Pushing away from the wall and to his feet, he hardened his expression as much as he possibly could as he readied himself to attempt to ignore an entire room filled with people who despised him. The Autobots weren't his concern, and neither were their human pets. In fact, there was only _one_ person he needed to worry about, to convince, and that person was Antonia Marez.

The Autobots could throw however many fits they wanted to over his decisions, but they couldn't do anything about them if his decisions were accepted. They couldn't force anyone to stay in their care if he, or she, in this case, didn't want to.

All that he had to do was convince Antonia that she didn't want to.

Clearing his throat nervously, he walked past Optimus Prime and the newest arrivals, and, ignoring the sudden gasps that erupted behind him as the group noticed Antonia, he closed in on the two young women.

Antonia was a tiny girl, light enough to be held by her mother despite the fact that it looked a little silly, with the tips of her toes nearly reaching down to her mother's knees. Her head was still wrapped up with stiff, stark bandages, her eyes wide, frightened and dark against the soft olive of her cheeks; she looked fragile, childish, with an aura of sleep-mused hair spikes surrounding her oval face.

She didn't look like the sort who would suddenly attack someone, or would even be capable of such a thing. Not in her condition. Not ever.

As he took the last step toward her, she let out an strangled '"No!", and there was a sudden burst of blue light from the shards implanted within her arms, her neck, her shoulders, her chest. Before he could pull himself away, her thin hands thrust against his suited chest and propelled him backward with an unexpectedly strong force. He slipped across the metallic floor before tripping over his own feet and collapsing in a disgraceful heap.

"Stay away from me, you sick bastard!" she screamed, her voice high and distraught, ringing numbly in his ears as he struggled to push himself into a sitting position. He was vaguely aware of the heavy steps thrumming behind him, intermingling with the irritating squeak of a wheelchair and the smaller, lighter steps of the humans, various voices colliding in curiosity and worry as the Autobots and their companions drew nearer. Neither he nor Antonia paid them much attention; she had struggled from her mother's grasp and was pushing herself away from him in a clumsy crab walk, her eyes wide with a strange combination of panic and fury. He remained where he was, his gaze locked on Antonia's receding form, his breath coming in weak pants from between his lips.

Antonia began to tremble furiously as soon as her back hit the wall, her wounded head throbbing as the All Spark seemed to implode within her.

- _STAY AWAY FROM HIM STAY AWAY STAY AWAY WANTS TO HURT YOU USE ME HURT YOU STAY AWAY STAY AWAY_ -

Images of blood dripping from her arms, her neck, wherever the All Spark pieces happened to be stuck like cookie cutters into her skin, flashed in her mind as the All Spark continued to sound its own senselessly panicked alarm, pounding on the walls of her mind with what felt like mental hammers. Disjointed thoughts, voices, faces swam and died under the uncontrollable power it held, the power it had unleashed in a desperate attempt to save both of them from a monster wearing a suit and a shark's smile, a monster by the name of Thomas Duke.

She knocked Tyler's bulky hands away from he attempted to reach for her, the first of the group to arrive at her side, and instead, clutched her head as she twisted between hate and agony, loathe and absolute, unrelenting despair. Her emotions were contorting themselves into two separate categories: an incredible terror of the man that lay collapsed only a few feet away, and an equally potent rage, the vicious desire to destroy him in any way she could. Digging her fingernails into the thick bandage of her head, she let out a wail and wrenched herself against the wall, trying desperately to put space between herself and this (_monster he's a monster_) man as the All Spark ricocheted through her mind like a rubber bullet, yanking her emotional strings along with it.

More hands reached for her, brushed against her, grabbed her in desperate attempts to keep her under control, and she forced her watering eyes open to witness who, the tears spilling down her cheeks in heavy, angry torrents. Tyler, Zachary, Sam and Mikaela crowded her immediate vision; Pilar had somehow managed to push herself beneath her and was sitting with Antonia in her lap, her arms wrapped protectively around her daughter's waist. Sam was to her right, both of his hands gripping her arm and pulling it away from her head, while Tyler did the same on her left. Mikaela and Zachary were busily shoving each other between Tyler and Sam, fighting for space.

Their voices collided in a loud collage of painful, high-pitched noise, and amidst it all, she wailed, kicked, and fought.

"What's wrong with her? Is she hurt, did he hurt her?"  
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't think so!"  
"Antonia! Stop crying, Antonia! Sto - _OW_!"  
"God Almighty - "  
"What the hell happened?"

Behind the immediate faces of her captors, she witnessed the Autobots having their own panic attack.

"What did you _do_, human?" Ironhide roared, his optics tinged with a dangerous red, his laser cannons drawn and aimed at Thomas Duke's trembling form. Ratchet stood beside him, his own weapons cocked and ready, a suspicious snarl etched across his face. "What did you do to her?"

"I didn't _do_ anything!" Thomas cried breathlessly, his hands fisting at his sides as his face turned red with a combination of fright and confusion. "I didn't, I - " He let out a gasp as Will Lennox gripped his shoulder and spun him around so that they were face-to-face, their noses nearly brushing. His eyes were narrowed and alight with a fury stronger than Duke had ever seen before.

"You sick son of a bitch, if you hurt her, I'll _kick _your _ass_!" he seethed, giving him a shove that nearly knocked him off of his feet. However, Thomas quickly regained his balance, his lips pressed together in a thin, fine line.

"Do that again," he choked, giving Will a cold smile. "I dare you."

Bumblebee and Jazz looked up from where they fought to control Antonia's unexpected fit, and exchanged a glance. |_This is getting outta hand, 'Bee|_ Jazz stated through a communications link, giving his companion a worried frown.

_|I know| _Bumblebee replied, wincing as Sam was knocked in the chin by Antonia's elbow. He cupped Sam in his hands as the teenager stumbled from the blow_. |I know, but what can we -|_

"That is _enough_!"

Almost as though they'd been jerked by invisible strings, Bumblebee, Jazz, and Ratchet skittered back a few steps, their widened optics locked on their leader. There was a grinding noise as Ratchet's weapon retreated back into his arm.

Pilar, Tyler and Zachary, panting hard, their eyes wide and surprised, had turned to face Optimus Prime as well. Sam stared at the floor between his sneakered feet, rubbing one hand against the back of his head as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. Mikaela, meanwhile, had gripped Antonia's head between her hands and was murmuring something soothing to her. In turn, Antonia stopped fighting, though she hadn't stopped weeping. The tears continued down her thin cheeks in weak trickles, her shoulders quaking violently.

Will, however, was still nose-to-nose with Thomas, and Ironhide had yet to withdraw his twin cannons, his bright optics flickering between his charge, the Secretary of Defense, and Optimus Prime.

"Ironhide!" Optimus Prime snapped. "Stand _down_!"

The weapon's specialist immediately refolded his cannons and took a single step backward, a frown set angrily on his face and his head turned moodily away.

The only two that remained unwavering were Will and Thomas, looking ready to tackle one another to the ground. Will's fists twitched as he forced himself not to send his knuckles digging into the soft skin of Thomas's right cheek, while Thomas silently egged him to do so, his lips drawn into a sharkish snarl, revealing the white stones of his teeth. Their narrowed eyes searched each other's faces with obvious loathing.

"William."

In response, the army captain forcibly took a step away from Thomas, though he didn't turn toward Optimus Prime. His fists twitching again with ugly, violent desire, he pretended he hadn't heard the underlying command behind his spoken name.

The next time Optimus spoke, his voice had hardened considerably. "William Lennox, you are a friend of mine, but when I said enough was enough, I meant it. You will stand down or I will request that you leave."

Throwing Thomas one last glare, Will unclenched his fists and crossed his arms over his chest, turning away from the younger man to face Optimus Prime. His expression was stormy and incredibly angry; Optimus ignored it as best as he could.

Instead, he stared hard at Thomas Duke, as did the rest of the occupants of the room.

The Secretary of Defense, his face blanched an unhealthy white, glanced between each of the Autobots, each of the humans, before finally resting on Optimus Prime, whose optics hadn't moved. His Adam's apple bobbed as he nervously tugged at the collar of his suit jacket, trying desperately to find the right words to explain what had happened.

"I...I didn't - "

"I think you should leave." There was no mistaking the demand in the Autobot's voice, tinged with a coldness that Thomas, despite everything he had done to him in the past, had not heard from Optimus Prime before.

Thomas desperately searched Optimus's expression one last time, his own unreadable. Then, he hastily swiveled around on the ball of one loafered foot and made his way toward the observation deck's door. It slid open automatically to allow him his escape.

He stopped once before exiting, glancing over his shoulder at the Autobots and their charges, his features rearranging themselves in an attempt to make himself look scarier than he was. He failed to do so. Instead, he looked wounded, frightened.

"This isn't over," he managed, his voice unsteady.

Before anyone could respond, he stepped through the opening and disappeared into the gargantuan hallway beyond it. The automatic door purred shut behind him.

Tyler was the first to break the uncomfortable silence that the Secretary of Defense had left in his wake, and he did it, surprisingly, with light-hearted laughter.

"That was _awesome_!" he crowed, a smile alighting his face as his blue eyes darted from Optimus Prime to Will, both of whom observed him with curiosity. "You two almost made that guy _piss _his _pants_!"

His giggles slowly eased the tension out of the room. Will cracked a small smile at his comment, rubbing the back of his head as he shrugged; Ironhide blew the air from his intakes, his frown no longer as deep as it had been. Zachary let out a soft snicker, watching with amusement as Tyler doubled-over in his wheelchair. Sam glanced up at his fellow senior as well, a goofy, relieved grin spreading on his face, happy that Thomas's visit didn't seem to have a lasting effect. Ratchet and Bumblebee exchanged a relieved glance, gradually becoming unwound.

Though Optimus Prime returned Tyler's amusement with one optic ridge raised and a small smile, he clearly wasn't as at ease as the other's were. In fact, the smile died from his face as he watched Pilar slowly push herself to her feet, Mikaela doing the same beside her. In her mother's arms, Antonia was nearly crushing Pilar with the grip of her desperate hug, her eyes wide and absent. She was staring, but nothing registered in her expression to suggest that she was _seeing_ anything.

Jazz, who had been hovering over Mikaela's shoulder like a worried parent, skittered around the tiny group so that he was facing Antonia. He bent to her height, crouching on his knees with his palms pressed against the floor, trying to get her attention.

"Hey, kiddo. Don't worry, that little slagger's gone, okay? He can't do anythin' to ya now, I promise," he murmured soothingly. Mikaela slipped into the space in front of him, bobbing her head in agreement as her eyes searched Antonia's thin face, which was slowly coming alive with comprehension.

"He's right," she agreed in a soothing tone, gently tapping the younger girl's cheek. Antonia blinked slowly in response. "Come on, honey. You're all right. You're all right."

Behind them, Pilar was quiet, her arms gripping her daughter tightly, holding her close. Buried in the choppy locks of her hair, she whispered a string of lulling Spanish into Antonia's ear. She trembled.

She waited.

Antonia blinked again, her gaze searching and alive. When she was met with Mikaela's and Jazz's identical, growing smiles, her lips twitched into a weak grin.

"She's okay," Jazz said, his shoulders slumping with relief. "I think she might've just - "

"What the hell did you guys do to Tommy boy? I just passed 'im in the hallway and lemme tell you, the kid looked ready to pitch a fit!" a familiar voice, accompanied by the soft swish of the deck's automatic door, interrupted him. All heads turned to face ex-Sector Seven agent Reginald Simmons as he walked purposefully toward the group, his capped head bent over a collection of papers. He sifted through them for a moment, mumbled something incoherent, and then stuffed them into his back pocket. Rearranging the cap on his head, he stopped at Optimus Prime's feet and glanced up at the Autobot leader, his arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow raised expectantly.

"All right, big guy. Are you the reason tiny Tom's pretty-boy panties are in a knot?"

Optimus Prime sounded resigned. "Maybe."

"I figured as much. You always get to have all the fun, lucky bastard." With that, he placed his hands on his hips and nodded a greeting to the rest of the Autobots, Will, Sam and Mikaela, before settling his gaze on Pilar and Antonia. He jerked a thumb in Antonia's direction, glancing up at Optimus for confirmation.

"All Spark kid?"

"Yes, that - "

"She okay?"

"I believe so, but - "

"That's all I need to know. We'll beat the rest out later. Right now, I got the kids' families all rounded up in the next room like ya asked me to, but I gotta warn you, my robotic friend...

Tommy's not the only one ready to pitch a fit."

_Primus help me._


	21. Chapter XXI

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXI_

_I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars._  
_We are here._  
_We are waiting._

How long ago had it been since he had heard the well-known voice of his long-lost leader, scrambled and punctured with thick static but still undeniably that of Optimus Prime, after years upon years of discouraging silence?

It could not have been very long, not at all, and yet it felt like an eternity had passed since he had begun his desperate search for Optimus and whatever Autobots constituted the mentioned "we" of his message; his search for another world to call home.

While the time he had spent honing in on the coordinates accompanying Prime's message hadn't been a particularly long space of time, the centuries upon centuries before his saving grace had been, and had felt, too long, _incredibly_ long, as well as incredibly lonely.

When Optimus Prime and his fellow soldiers had disappeared during their search for the All Spark ages ago, their spark signatures unexpectedly vanishing from the radar, he had been given permission to do what he did best: track. He had not gone alone, of course, but...

_No. Do not think about them. Not now. Later, when you can afford to. When you are home._

The fact that he, of all Autobots, had lost _them_, literally, did absolutely nothing to boost his morale. Neither did the thought of what had become of them, where they were now, if they were still online at all.

_Stop it._

Everything would be all right, though; everything would be fine. Because, despite the dismal state of the centuries past, despite the uncomfortable desolation of traveling without a single friend, despite the guilty ache he experienced constantly for those who had gone astray, there was, finally, a light at the end of the tunnel, a silver lining, in the form of the tiny blue planet that filled his optical vision. It was home to the companions he had missed so much, and it would be to him too, soon enough.

_We are here._  
_We are waiting._

{**Countdown to impact:** _12:39:02._}

* * *

"Kid, as soon as I saw your family, I had to do a double-take, I'm not gonna lie. I mean..._Jesus_," Simmons threw his hands into the air, letting out a breathless snort of laughter as he walked companionably alongside Tyler's squeaking wheelchair, "Can you say 'Children of the Corn'?"

Tyler wasn't too offended by this statement; it was a true one. In response, he cocked a charming smile Simmon's way, absently propelling himself down the gargantuan hall that led to the base's front room, and shrugged his shoulders. "So...I guess you saw them all, huh?"

"Saw 'em all? I _brought_ 'em all. I didn't have a choice in the matter, either," he added quickly, his palms upended in surrender at the sudden glare Will dealt him. "Dear ol' Mom and Pop seemed to agree that it was best that the kept all the kids in one place, considering what their eldest had gotten into on a damn _walk to school_."

"I can't keep up with this," Will interrupted from his spot on Ironhide's shoulder. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut as he motioned for Simmons to explain with a quick wave of his hand. "I mean, what do you...'Children of the Corn'? All of them? I'm not following you."

"I am not, either," Optimus Prime rumbled. He brought the odd group to a halt, stopping far enough away from the room's doorway as to not be heard by whoever might be inside. Crossing his thick arms over his chassis, he eyed Simmons expectantly, awaiting further explanation.

When he was met with silence, a sad attempt at doe-eyes and an uneasy smile, he felt a sudden sinking in his spark.

_Uh oh._ Letting out a burst of air from his intakes, he dropped his arms back to his sides, where they hung weakly. "I asked for you to alert the children's parents as to what has happened..." he prompted, one optic ridge raised.

"Uh huh...yeah, _yeah_, you did, but..I..."

"...You what?"

"Well, I...I went a few steps further." Snatching his cap from his head, Simmons began to wring it nervously in his hands. "I...I _tried_. I did. I tried to explain what had happened to their kids, but...y'know, they didn't really believe it. When I flashed my badge at 'em, they sort...sort of realized that somethin' had happened, but...wouldn't give in, even though they recognized me on top of it...and, they didn't want _proof _so much as they wanted to hear the explanation from...from the Autobots themselves, and, obviously, they wanted to see their brats too, to know they're all right. I know you guys ain't moving these kids anywhere, so..." He shrugged, absently fixing his cap back onto his head. "I brought their parents here."

"Fair enough," Optimus replied, looking considerably less tense. The situation wasn't nearly as problematic as Simmons had made it sound; in fact, the ex-Sector Seven operative had done exactly as he'd asked. "That's - "

"You...Uh, you didn't let me finish."

"Ah." _I should have guessed._ "Go on, then."

Simmons nodded sheepishly, glancing down at his loafered feet. "Blondie's parents," he continued, jerking a thumb in Tyler's direction; the self-proclaimed King of the Cyborgs glanced up, his brows raised curiously at the mention of his mother and father, "insisted on bringin' along _all_ of their other tots. That's what I was trying to say before. Tyler's family decided it would be 'in their best interest' to come as a whole."

Zachary and Sam, who were flanking Tyler, exchanged a wary glance, and Sam leaned over to tug the bulky senior's torn sleeve.

"Uh...how many brothers and sisters are we talking about here?" he asked.

Tyler, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, counted off on his fingers, as though he'd forgotten how many siblings he shared a house with. "...Five."

Sam blinked. "Five...you included?"

"Nope. _Six_, me included."

There was silence as, very slowly, the elder Autobots turned to glare at Simmons, who shifted uneasily beneath their bright blue gazes. He glanced in desperation at Will, who wore a rather stormy expression himself. Realizing he wasn't going to get any aid from the army captain, Simmons shrugged his shoulders stubbornly.

"Look, all right? I did what I could! With parents, there's no room for arguing, and I kinda figured they had a right to be a little protective of their kids with what's happened! On...on the _bright_ side, ginger's parents only popped out one!"

"Hey!"

Optimus let out another soft sigh, redirecting the conversation. "I thank you for what you have done, Simmons. We will just have hope that what we discuss, and...well..." He glanced down at himself. "...What we _are_, does not scare the sparklings."

Tyler gave a nod and waggled his finger playfully at the Autobots, causing Antonia and Mikaela, closely grouped with Pilar, to smirk as they watched him. "Best behavior!" he instructed primly, receiving rather ugly glares from Ratchet and Ironhide, though Bumblebee flashed him a thumb's up of agreement, his door-wings fluttering with excitement.

Jazz was already wandering down the hallway, his optic visor bright with curiosity. He was nearly at the corner by the time the odd collection noticed he had disappeared.

He glanced back at the others and flashed them a charming smile. "What'cha waiting for? Come on!"

Ratchet and Ironhide reluctantly turned toward the second-in-command, their shoulders slumped at the thought of hyperactive human younglings in their immediate future. Trailing the two elder mechs in a small group were Pilar, Antonia, who had wriggled away from her mother so that she could walk, unsteadily, on her own, Tyler, his wheelchair squeaking incessantly, Zachary and Agent Simmons. Will was still sitting atop Ironhide's shoulder plating, patting the mech's head companionably as he attempted to convince him that it couldn't be that bad.

Bumblebee, who had stopped to gather up his charges, jumped with surprise when Optimus Prime gripped the top of his helmeted head, carefully spinning him around to face him. Sam and Mikaela glanced up at the Autobot leader from their place in their guardian's cupped hands.

"I have a favor to ask of the three of you."


	22. Chapter XXII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXII_

When Will had attempted to explain everything, beginning with the radio interference that had started the entire, messy situation to his escape from the confusing attack on his base in Qatar and ending with the death match drawn in the depths of Mission City, she had refused to believe him.

She'd been determined that he was pulling some sort of twisted joke, or that he was being forced to feed her such a cover-story in order to keep whatever had really happened under wraps. Despite the fact that the latter didn't make much sense, she had held onto it because there was no way she could believe that alien robots were the reason her husband had ended contact with her for an entire week's time.

That had been before she'd met Ironhide, the gray Topkick that had driven Will home; the same gray Topkick that had somehow done so _without a driver_.

Once Will had introduced her to him, as well as to the rest of the Autobots, who had yet, at the time, to make themselves known to the general public, she had believed. Since then, she and Annabelle had been welcome members at the Autobot base, and despite the weapon's specialist's grumpy personality and frightening appearance, he'd become one of her closest friends. She wasn't his only fan, either: Annabelle was absolutely in love with him. At first, she'd been reluctant to trust her only daughter with a giant robot, but Ironhide had surprised her. As it turned out, the adoration was mutual; he was Anna's second father, a protective guardian. There was no longer any doubting his ability to be careful and loving around the tiny child.

For her, the acceptance of the Autobots had been relatively easy. Will had worked, and still worked, closely with them, trusted them with his life, and had grown to become Ironhide's best friend. Because her husband trusted them and because she trusted him, it was a companionship that had grown quickly and fully. It had become so strong, in fact, that the Lennox family had finally packed their bags and moved into a home in the Mission City suburbs in order to be closer to their robotic friends.

Glancing up from where she'd been staring down at her splayed hands, she inspected the newest arrivals, wondering whether it would be just as easy for them to accept the Autobots as it had been for her.

The two families in question, the Rones and the Ellers, had separated themselves from one another, each parental pairing settled with their spouse on their own cloud of worry and hesitation. However, their situations were the only thing the families had in common. Besides the fact that their sons had both mysteriously become involved with the Autobots, they were polar opposites.

Sitting farthest from her were the Rones: there was Dr. Adam Rone, well-known in Mission City for his expertise in the infirmary, and his wife, Dr. Theresa Rone, a slim woman with short, black hair and frostbite-blue eyes. They sat together on the floor, side by side, their gazes locked on the gargantuan door leading into the hallway. Between them, their fingers were intertwined in a sweet, desperate but subtle attempt at comfort.

She'd tried to make some sort of conversation with them, but they'd answered with quiet, absent responses, their minds clearly elsewhere. From what she had been able to wring from them, they only knew of the obvious: that their son, Zachary, had attracted the attention of the residential aliens.

Then there was the other family. The Ellers.

The father, Gregory Eller, was a bulky, burly man who was just beginning to develop the pudge that came with the approach of midlife, but whose arms were thick with a surprising amount of muscle. He had a dusty-blond crew cut peppered very lightly with gray, and a hardened expression that managed to look a little menacing even when he smiled. He too was sitting on the floor, his shoulders slumped and his expression restless, uneasy.

Beside him, his wife, Joanna, constantly dabbed at her baby-blue eyes with a large handkerchief, her bottom lip trembling with worry. She was a short woman, slightly chubby in a sweet sort of way, with long, blond hair that was held away from her face by a pretty bandanna. Her tiny hand rested against her husband's knee, and he soothed her away from her tears in an unexpectedly soft voice, gently patting her hand with his bigger one.

They'd been much more talkative, much friendlier than the Rones, complimenting both her and Annabelle and asking plenty of questions despite the fact that she didn't have the information to answer many of them. Like the quiet doctors, they knew next to nothing about their current situation; only that their eldest son Tyler was involved.

For the past few minutes, however, even these two parents, who'd been so outgoing moments before, had delved into silence, content with speaking to each other in diffused, worried tones. They seemed almost oblivious to the flock of their own children, each of them towheaded and gifted with a pair of beautiful blue eyes, currently situated in a tightly-knit circle as they whispered excitedly to each other. Every so often, a corn silken head would bob up to check the open doorway for any Autobots that might have arrived while they'd been looking away, only to bow back down in disappointment.

Five out of the six Eller youngsters were boys. There was but one girl, a curly-headed, adorable little thing named Lily who was chattering away with Annabelle near her feet. She was grateful for the momentary distraction of a playmate. Before Lily's arrival, Annabelle had hounded her constantly. _"Where I'hide? Where?" _she'd questioned, yanking the hem of her skirt. _"Where Da?"_

It had gotten to the point where -

The floor vibrated.

Sarah blinked with surprise as she felt a soft rumble pass beneath her. It was followed by a series of them: gigantic footsteps.

"They're coming!" one of the little boys hissed, jumping to his feet and beginning to bounce excitedly around the others. One by one, his brothers followed suit, but remained huddled together. There was an expression on their faces that she recognized almost immediately. Each of them _wanted_ to be excited, happy, about the anticipated arrival, but there was still a soft, tentative fear, a fear that was shared by much, if not all, of the human population. The Autobots were popular, certainly, but that didn't stop them from being scary.

When the Autobots finally turned the corner, herding into the room with a various collection of humans, the group of children let their uneasiness override their excitement. Instead of screaming for the Autobots, they screamed for their older brother, the only one of the group they were completely comfortable with.

"TYYYYYYYLEEEERRRR!"

Tyler broke into a bright smile and swerved away from the others. He rolled toward his ecstatic siblings, colliding into them in a collage of arms, legs, and heads, soon covered in small, boyish bodies, his brothers sharing his lap, sitting on his shoulders, somehow squeezing themselves into the space between the chair and his back, each of them their own ball of happy energy, demanding to know what had happened to make his leg 'broked', asking what it was like to be with the Autobots and peeking at said giant robots from behind the safety of Tyler's muscled bulk.

Despite their shyness, their uneasiness, one of them noticed rather quickly who was missing.

"Hey!" he cried, just as his mother and father approached, each parent looking exceptionally vexed at their son's wheelchair. The one who had spoken looked to be the youngest of the five boys, and, observing the four robots with a disappointed expression, he crossed his arms over his tiny, overall-clad chest, his bottom lip protruding in a pout. "Where's 'Bee, huh?"

Just as the tot's sentence tapered off, there was a sudden shriek of tires from out in the hallway, and Bumblebee zoomed into the room, Mikaela and Sam hooting excitedly out of his windows as they waved and honked. Every pair of baby blue eyes followed the Camaro's enthusiastic fishtail to the other side of the room, and within seconds, all uneasiness disappeared with the arrival of the crowd favorites.

Sneakered feet slammed to the metallic floor as Tyler's brothers jumped away from him and began their mad scramble for the opposite end of the room, yelping with absolute delight. "It's 'Bee! It's 'Bee!" they squealed in a delighted chorus, "I see Sam, I see Sam and Mikaela!"

Even as Tyler was rid of his tinier burdens, however, his mother and father captured him, squeezed him between them in a tight hug, covering his face, his head, in rough kisses, seemingly intent on suffocating their eldest child. Lily, who had given the arriving robots but a single glance, tottered over to her older brother and pushed herself into his lap, completing the loving triangle of relieved family members that her parents had started.

Sarah Lennox approached the tiny, tightly-knit group, followed closely by Zachary, his mother and father flanking him like sentries. Dr. Adam's face had whitened considerably since the Autobots had appeared, although he retained whatever uneasiness he might've felt, choosing instead to calmly observe the Autobots over the intelligent arcs of his glasses. Beside him, Theresa clasped Zachary close, her slim hand gently rubbing the cast around his arm.

Meanwhile, Ironhide gently placed Will on the floor, where he reunited with his wife, slipping an arm around her waist. Simmons stepped forward and cleared his throat, ushering Pilar and Antonia along a few steps so that they stood between the Ellers and the Rones, a broken family amidst those that were whole. He then stepped back so that he stood beside Will, his arms crossed over his chest.

An apprehensive silence, punctured only by the blissful hoots of the Eller children from across the room, filled the air. With it came the realization that there was an invisible but definable line between the Autobots and their closest companions, and the families, big and small, who had somehow become involved in a situation none of them were the slightest bit comfortable with. The Ellers and the Rones had accepted the Autobots, that was true. But it had been under different circumstances; at that time, there had been a television screen separating them from the mysterious alien robots that had made Earth their home. At that time, they'd been safe, just another few of the billion.

That had changed. It made both sets of parents wonder which steps were worth taking, and which, their children's well-being and safety in mind at all times, were not.

An interruption ended the uneasy stand-off.

The little girl let out a delighted shriek, her tiny arms outstretched, her chubby legs pumping madly as she scrambled en route to her father. "Hi! Hi! Hi!" she cried.

Will couldn't help himself. The edge visibly dropping from his shoulders as his lips stretched into a goofy smile, he bent down, holding out his hands for his daughter, happiness sparkling in his eyes.

"'Belle!" he called out joyfully, "Hey, little baby! How's Daddy's favorite...favorite...girl...?"

His coos died as Annabelle rushed passed him, her silken locks streaking out behind her.

"I'HIIIIIIIIIDE!" she cried ecstatically, rushing up to the Autobot. Chuckling deeply, he caught the tiny girl in the palm of his hand before she could latch herself onto his ankle armor and curled his fingers around her as he lifted her to rest against his chassis, where she nuzzled herself against his protective plating. He carefully brushed the pad of his thumb against her small head, his optics bright and loving.

Will pushed himself to his feet and turned to glare at Ironhide, who observed his charge with a smug smirk.

"What the _hell_ was that, man?" the army captain cried, throwing his hands into the air.

Before Ironhide could respond, Gregory Eller let out a hearty guffaw, slamming his hand good-naturedly against his knee and thus setting off a chain reaction of relief. His wife chuckled softly, covering her mouth as she did so. Adam Rone cracked a small smile as his wife did the same. Pilar giggled, sharing a grin with Antonia. Even Simmons snickered, shaking his head.

Optimus Prime looked relieved as he glanced between each human face, more so than any of the others. Mental images and ugly thoughts had plagued his mind in that short silence moments before: anger, tears, insults, demands, disbelief. Now, however, there was the slightest hope that, perhaps, their parental situation would go...

Smoothly.

"Greetings," he began, as he had so many times before. "As you know, I am Optimus Prime, and these are my soldiers, the Autobots..."

* * *

"It is a precaution," he finished softly, his optics soft and almost pleading as they searched each expression for the slightest inkling of comprehension, of acceptance. "Your children have become involved in a situation that requires that they remain with us until the threat the Decepticons pose is terminated. I am reluctant to admit that even I do not know how long it will take, to terminate this threat completely, but...I am hopeful that once Starscream is destroyed, Tyler and Zachary can return home."

"You're _hopeful_?" Adam Rone repeated, one thin eyebrow raised in question, his lips curled in thoughtful frown. "Can I conclude from that statement that you are unsure whether or not my son will be safe once this 'Starscream' is...eradicated?"

"If I can be perfectly honest with you, Doctor Rone," Optimus Prime replied quietly, "I am unsure about a lot right now. I cannot assume that Starscream, or Barricade for that matter, will leave Zachary or Tyler alone if I allow them to depart without the proper protection. I cannot assume that once Starscream's spark is ended, all will be well for any length of time. I cannot assume that our enemies will not go to great lengths to retrieve Antonia, and ultimately, what remains of the All Spark, perhaps using your children as bait, as hostages. Because I refuse to assume the best of the very worst, I do not want to give any potential consequences even the slightest chance of becoming reality."

He immediately regretted his words, watching Joanna Eller's heart-shaped face go an unhealthy white with sickened alarm at the words "bait" and "hostages", but Adam Rone appeared unaffected. The doctor in question leaned forward, his nimble hands clasping his knees as his bright eyes observed Optimus Prime over the arcs of his glasses.

"These Decepticons are clever, correct? If it's not my son or the Eller boy they take as a hostage, it will be a random innocent, a bystander, anyone at all, because they know that it will cause a reaction from you. I imagine you have considered this."

"Yes, I have. Unfortunately, to stop such a turn of events ahead of time would be out of my control. I cannot protect every one human being against a Decepticon attack, I can only protect your race as a whole. I must be content to protect those that I can and to halt any possible disasters that are in my control, rather than think and worry about those that are not." Optimus's dim gaze wandered to where the tiny group of his charges, new and old, had gathered: Sam and Mikaela, Zachary and Tyler. His expression hardened with unspoken determination before he continued. "...If there was any doubt in my mind that your children would not be in any danger upon leaving the Autobot base," he rumbled deeply, "I would allow them to do exactly that. But because I cannot be sure of anything at the moment, because I do not want to take any risks...I would prefer it if they remained here. Where I know that they will be safe."

Sitting beside her husband, Theresa Rone nodded, her eyes wide and bright with tears that had yet to fall. Fiddling absently with her silver wedding ring, she followed Optimus's optics to where her only son sat on the floor, his long legs tucked beneath him. There was a moment of silence as she stared at Zachary, passionate emotions flickering within her irises like a silent movie, before she lifted her head toward the Autobot leader, her lips set in a fine line.

"Besides keeping Zach and Tyler at this base with you, is there anything else you will do to ensure their safety?" she asked, her voice giving just the smallest hint of a frightened tremble.

Optimus Prime nodded. "Each child will be given a guardian who will be in charge of that child specifically. We will all make a group effort to defend them whenever necessary, of course."

Gregory Eller straightened into a proper sitting position at this, and smirked with obvious approval. "Huh...Well, uh, which of you will go to which kid?" he inquired, glancing between the four Autobots. "Not that it..._really_ matters, seeing as all you're all big-ass robots with big-ass guns, but I kinda want to know who's gonna be protectin' my son." _So I know who to blame if my Ty gets blown to kingdom come._

Optimus blinked, looking a little surprised at his question. Since the moment he'd decided on his current course of action, he hadn't given it much in-depth thought. He'd originally agreed with himself to allow Antonia, Pilar, Zachary and Tyler to go with their first choice of an Autobot guardian, but that didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

However, he had noticed connections forming in the short amount of time that their newest charges had spent in their care. It would be best, perhaps, to go with his intuition.

"...Ironhide will be Tyler's guardian," he stated in response to Gregory's question. Beside him, his weapon's specialist let out an inaudible hiss, and Will Lennox glanced up in surprise, turning his head to stare at Optimus Prime over his shoulder, his thick eyebrows raised in question.

| _I am already Will's guardian!_ | Ironhide seethed angrily through a communications link. His soft hiss rumbled into a dangerous, furious growl.

| _Bumblebee has two charges as well,_ | Optimus pointed out bluntly, unaffected. | _William is better fit to defend himself if need be against the Deceptions; not only is he a seasoned soldier, but he has dealt with them effectively before. Tyler is wounded, and while he is strong, he is still hardly more than a youngling. He needs a guardian more so than Will - _|

| _Then let it be Jazz or - !_ |

|_ - And that guardian will be _you_, Ironhide. There will be no further discussion on the matter. _|

| _I do _not_ want to babysit a slagging kid, Prime! _|

| _My decision stands._ | With that, he ended the communications link, setting Ironhide into a silent fit of fury. The bulky mech snarled, glaring hard at some indivisible spot on the floor, his optics dark.

Before Gregory or Joanna Eller could comment on either Optimus's statement or Ironhide's confusing reaction, Adam Rone spoke up once again, his curiosity perked. "What about Zachary?" he questioned

_Oh, this is an easy one._ "Ratchet, our medical officer, will be his guardian."

At this, Ratchet straightened up, looking incredibly pleased with his decision. Smiling softly, the medic stepped forward, bending at the knees in order to greet the Rones properly. He held out his hand in a tentative gesture, and after a moment of confusion, Adam understood: he clasped his hand over the tip of Ratchet's finger, shaking it. Theresa followed suit.

"You have nothing to worry about," Ratchet reassured them, pushing himself back to his feet. "I promise you that Zachary will be completely safe in my care."

"I have no doubt about that," Adam responded, the ghost of a satisfied grin on his lips. Though he didn't say so aloud, he was greatly comforted by the fact that the Autobot's resident doctor would be his son's caretaker. He supposed it was a little silly, but he felt better knowing that Zachary had a guardian he could relate to, and one that seemed more than happy with Optimus's ultimatum.

"What 'bout Antonia?" Jazz suddenly burst out, his voice tight and quick, as though he had wanted to ask but had kept silent until he physically couldn't. Optimus Prime glanced at his short second-in-command curiously, but his expression gave no hint as to why he'd sounded so urgent. The silver mech merely stared at him.

"I think you would be best suited for Antonia," Optimus replied momentarily, relying on (_"Hey, little babe, you're gonna be all right. Just stay with me, now, stay with me, okay...? Don't let go. Can you do that...?"_) an earlier observation. "Is that all right with you, Jazz?"

"You got it, boss!" Flashing him a quick thumb's up, Jazz ducked his head. Not before Optimus caught his lopsided grin, though.

| _Thanks, man._ |

| _You are welcome._ | _Why can't Ironhide be this accepting of his charge...? _he thought absently.

" - her guardian?"

"Hm?" The Autobot leader blinked, turning to look down at Gregory Rone. The thickly set man had one big thumb cocked in Pilar's direction, his eyebrows raised in question.

"I said, who's gonna be _her_ guardian? Doesn't she need one too?"

Pilar glanced up, her eyes bright with curiosity. She'd been sitting quietly between the two families with Antonia beside her and a recently-rediscovered Telebot resting happily on her daughter's chest. Antonia, exhausted (_a little _too _exhausted,_ Optimus Prime noted distractedly) had passed out yet again, her head resting against her mother's crossed legs, Telebot's thin arms curled around his mother's neck.

Pilar hadn't been as attentive to the conversation as the other parents, alternating between brushing her fingers through the ragged locks of her daughter's hair and stroking Telebot's helmeted head. Only when Antonia's name had been used during the explanation had Pilar paid obvious attention.

The young woman gave a shrug, looking uncomfortable with all eyes and optics focused on her. "I do not need a guardian," she stated softly. "My own protection is not as important as the children's. It is all right with - "

"I will be your guardian."

Pilar blinked with surprise, her dark eyes focusing on Optimus Prime. He couldn't decipher her expression, which was a little unnerving.

"You do not have to, you know," she said to him.

That statement wasn't particularly true. She did, in fact, need a guardian. But from the time he'd spent on Earth so far, he understood that she already knew it and that this was some sort of mandatory human attempt at being "polite". It was strange, but then again, many of the actions and ways of earthlings were strange.

"Yes, you do," he corrected gently. "You are no different than Antonia, Zachary or Tyler. The danger applies to all of those closely involved, including you. You need a guardian."

She accepted this readily enough, without retort or question, choosing to incline her head in silent agreement. However, there was a moment when her gaze locked with his own, and it was then that he understood. He had been wrong. She wasn't trying to be polite.

She did not want a guardian.


	23. Chapter XXIII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXIII_

"Secretary? If you would just wait a moment, I'd...Thomas? Thomas, is something wrong?...Is that _blood_? Hey - !"

As soon as the thickness of his mahogany door was between them, Thomas immediately felt better, even more so after its bronze lock thunked satisfyingly into place with a quick flick of his wrist.

A pained, almost hysterical smile sewn onto his trembling lips, Thomas Duke pressed himself against the wooden barrier just as one of his many no-name no-face employees, a balding, chubby man with a small pair of gold-rimmed glasses set across his piggish nose, began to pound on its frame, all the while calling his name.

"Thomas! Thomas, _please_, for the love of God, open the door! What's wrong? Has something happened?" With each knock of the man's fist, Thomas rattled along with the office door, his agonized smile never leaving his sweaty expression. A drop of blood, bright and perfect, slipped down his wrist and splattered at his feet, staining the rug by the tip of his loafer. He trembled.

After a few more moments of his uselessness, wheezing dangerously from both uneasiness and unwelcome exertion, the distraught employee let out a groan and made his way down the hall, desperately searching for someone of higher authority who would be able to either talk the young Secretary into coming out or, if need be, break open the door itself.

In his current situation, however, Thomas knew that it wouldn't have mattered if the Vice-President had demanded that he open his office door (_if you don't leave soon, it might come to that_) or even if the President himself had commanded that he do so. It wouldn't have mattered, because if he listened to either of his superiors, it would ruin the surprise. _His_ surprise.

His smile, deformed with incredible agony, alarm and excitement, widened a few notches. _Surprise, surprise, surprise. _My_ surprise._

Thomas's fingers, empty of wedding rings, snagged the cuff of his opposite wrist and yanked the sleeve of his shirt up his forearm, rolling its edges at the crook of his elbow and revealing what was hidden beneath. His wrist was dripping with blood, engine-red trickles of his bodily liquid staining the palm of his hand, the pads of his fingers, dripping off of their tips to land in abstract splashes against the creamy white of his office rug, pattering around his feet like wounded raindrops.

With what seemed to be a herculean amount of effort, he wrenched open his trembling fist.

Stuck inside of the cup of his quivering hand was a clock face.

The tiny gadget no longer resembled the intricate, expensive watch his parents had awarded him years ago for some long-gone birthday. It had been, for lack of a better word, _transformed_, transformed into a machine that was steadily weaving itself into the hardened, calloused skin of his palm, his fingers, his knuckles, and the softer skin of his wrist. With pained fascination, he watched a thick, throbbing silver wire slip from the mutating, twining mass of semi-sentient technology and writhe its way into the thin highways of blue veins obscured beneath his skin.

One eye twitched as a scream of misery erupted in the pit of his stomach, clawing its way up the winding course of his throat only to be swallowed back down with all the force he could muster. His lips and teeth clamped against the animalistic shriek that was threatening to melt its way through his defenses with each passing second, Thomas clutched his infected wrist with his free hand and snatched it against his suited chest, slowly collapsing to his knees.

His breath came in quick, wheezing, dog-like pants; he couldn't seem to hold it in his lungs long enough for the air to be of any use, nor could he catch it, put it under any sort of control. In fact, his entire body, its functions, his organs, his thoughts and emotions, didn't appear to be under his control at all anymore. Nothing inside of him was prepared for the mechanical invasion that was snaking its way in through his veins, twining around his bones, writhing and intruding and...and..._burning_. It was as though the alien energy was branding his insides for its own, as though nothing that had been his was his anymore.

_It is a necessary sacrifice._

There a sudden bite in his side as tiny metallic teeth sank into the tenderness of the pale skin along his thigh, cutting all too easily through the fabric of his navy pants. The beastly squeal that had been rising up in his gasping throat tripled in its force, throbbing against the weakened shield of his clenched teeth, his compressed lips, low and humming, an alarming bass. With his poisoned hand still held tightly to his chest, Thomas quaked against his office door and fell to the bloodied carpet on his backside. His lids overflowing with tormented tears, he curled into a quivering ball and felt the Blackberry that had been residing in his pocket break from its cotton confines and, newly sentient, soak into his body. Wires punctured his soft skin, robotic fangs, and planted themselves into him, dangerous seed searching for an energy source.

_Necessary..._

His Bluetooth earpiece, transforming and mutating, implanted itself into his ear and slipped through the healthy forest of his hair. He could feel the cognizant machinery poke and prod carefully, tentatively, at the starched, round protection of his skull...

Before pulling away.

_Sacrifice._

Just as Thomas was about to breathe a sigh of relief, its fingers, hissing, broken wires spouting blue static and raw power, wormed into his ear.

The horrible second his tormentor found exactly what it was looking for inside of his throbbing head, the defying moment his Bluetooth, his Blackberry and his digital watch, having itched and writhed down the course of his jaw and neck, squirmed up his chest, and snaked along the slopes and muscles of his arm, met to connect and intrude at the vulnerable breast above his frantically beating heart, ready to give the last venomous injection, he did exactly what he'd been dying to do.

Thomas Duke screamed.

* * *

He had come as quickly as he possibly could.

Stars, planets, moons, galaxies, time itself, slipped away as he had propelled himself to the coordinates of his destination, the tiny, wet, organic planet where his leader had beckoned from, voicing the very command he had been waiting centuries upon centuries to hear once again.

_Come, Soundwave._

He knew exactly what he was. He knew what the others, his fellow soldiers, thought of him: a lackey, a dog, a servant and a slave to a merciless master who never once rewarded him for any ugly deed he had ever done in his name. But what they thought or believed of him and what he did, had done, did not matter, nor had it ever. Not when his name was being called, his service required, by a being more important than any of them could ever hope to be.

He had come as quickly as he possibly could. Yet, he had not been quick enough.

Ever since he had been sparked, he had been under Megatron's close supervision. Even then, millennia ago, there had been no mech to rival his communications techniques, his skills. Because of what he could do, and do well, he had attracted quite a lot of attention, specifically that of Megatron's. As soon as he had met the infamous Cybertronian, there had been no question to where his loyalty would lie.

_Come, Soundwave. It is time._

Perhaps, as time had passed and he had seen more of his leader, more than most of his fellow Decepticons, he had begun to subconsciously believe that Megatron was invincible. He had tricked himself into thinking that no matter how many times he was knocked down, pushed back, forced to his knees...He would rise again, and again, and again, as he had countless times before, until one day, one day...He would prevail.

He had been wrong.

What bothered him the most was that he had been close enough to Earth to sense the dying of his leader's spark, yet he had not been close enough to aid him in time, not close enough to do what had been requested of him. He had failed, and it had cost Megatron his life.

But that did not mean that he could make nothing of his current situation.

That did not mean that he could not redeem himself.

_It is time._

{**Countdown to impact:** _20:18:42._}


	24. Chapter XXIV

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXIV_

"Please, Tyler, please, please, _please_, for the love of God and everything holy, _please _be safe!"

"Ma, I promise, I'll be fine! _Ow_! I'm not made of stone, you know, your lips are crushing my head!"

"Take it like a man! That's how I raised you! Besides, who knows when I'll see my beautiful little boy again..."

"I can't take it like a man _OW_! when you're baby-talking to me!"

"I love you so much, honey - "

"Embarrassing, ack, suffocating..."

"Tyler, you listen to your mother. You damn well stay safe or I will beat the living Hell out of you. If you even _think_ about dying - "

"Gregory!"

" - Now, Joanna, this is between me and the boy. If you die, I will resurrect you and _then_ beat the living Hell out of you." He patted Tyler's cropped head with one big hand. "I love you very much, son."

"Yes'sir. Love you too."

There was a moment when he disappeared completely beneath his parents' bodies, their arms snaking around him and pressing him to them as close as he would come, given the bulk of both their son and his wheelchair. Then, with what seemed to be an enormous amount of effort, they gradually let him go.

Gregory Eller gave his eldest child one last pat on the head, this time running his thick fingers through Tyler's hair, before letting his hand drop to his side, an undecipherable expression wedged on his rugged face.

"You're a good kid, Ty," he managed hoarsely, giving him a single nod.

Tyler responded to this with an easy smile. "I try, Dad."

Joanna Eller snuffled, her eyes dribbling with tears as she allowed herself to be engulfed in her husband's arms. "Please be safe," she murmured once more, pressing two fingers to her trembling lips and blowing Tyler a kiss. He made a great effort to catch it, leaning forward in his wheelchair with his cheek turned toward his mother, earning him a reluctant giggle.

"Ma," he murmured in a soft, sweet voice, though his tone, his expression, were unexpectedly serious, "I'm gonna be all right."

_That's what I'm praying for._ Her wet, wide eyes still locked on Tyler, Joanna slowly dragged herself, her husband following close behind her, over to the small group of soldiers that had been called to ship the entire Eller family back home. Tyler's younger siblings, having finally grown tired of Bumblebee, Sam, and Mikaela after they'd realized how disappointingly, ironically normal the three of them were, had already crowded themselves into the designated army jeep. Only upon realizing that it was the last time they'd see their brother in what could be a long while did they poke their heads out of the windows, their tiny hands pushing through and waving ecstatically.

"Bye Tyler!"  
"I'll miss you!"  
"We'll _all_ miss him, dummy!"  
"Hope your leg feels better soon!"  
"Hope you don't get crushed by a robot!"  
"Hope you don't die!"  
"Can I have his stuff if he dies?"  
"Can I have his room?"  
"I want is girlfriend! I call his girlfriend!"

Giggles erupting from the confines of the jeep, Tyler sighed and rubbed the back of his head, a goofy smile plastered on his face. "Gonna miss you guys," he said under his breath, his lips twitching as he fought a frown. "Gonna miss you a lot..."

From behind him came a grunt. "They act as though you are already dead."

"Huh?" Tyler jumped with surprise, turning to glance over his shoulder at Ironhide, who stood with his thick arms crossed over his chassis. He observed his appointed guardian for a moment, his smirk shifting back into permanent place. "For such'a big guy, you move like a ninja, compadre. Didn't even hear you back there."

Ironhide started, as though he suddenly realized who he was talking to: the very "kid" who had sent him into a fit of fury once he'd learned that he'd be his guardian. He growled upon reaching this realization, his features darkening into a scowl as he further deepened his defensive stance and turned to walk away.

Unfortunately, he could not rid himself of Tyler that easily.

"Hey! Wait up!" Quickly gaining speed, Tyler rolled himself in front of Ironhide, stopping the stout weapon's specialist before he could get very far. Never once wincing beneath the stony, angry glare he received, the blond continued to smile up at him amicably. "So...uh...are we gonna be like, friends now?"

"No."

"Oh." The defeat was momentary. "Do you want to sign my cast?"

"I would crush your leg."

"...Is that a no?"

"Get out of my way, child. I have no time for you!" With that, he stepped around Tyler and continued toward the hall's entrance with stiff shoulders and a lowered head.

Tyler stared after him, a wounded expression on his face as he failed to comprehend what he had done to deserve such treatment. "Wait..haven't got...Aren't you supposed to be my guardian?" he called after him meekly. "I thought we would - "

"Well, you thought wrong. I only have to be your guardian when you need one, and right now, you do not." Ironhide disappeared before Tyler could even think of an answer.

His shoulders slumping considerably, he sighed. He hadn't been here long enough to have insulted Ironhide in any way; he didn't think he'd been here long enough to insult _anyone_ in any way. Perhaps Ironhide merely disliked him without having any sort of reason for doing so. Maybe he'd been hoping for a different charge; Antonia or Zachary, Pilar.

_Whatever the reason, why can't he just get over it?_ _Am I really that horrible...?_

Staring at the doorway as though he expected Ironhide to suddenly reappear, he only turned from the empty exit when Zachary called his name.

"Tyler! Hey, Tyler! Oh...Hey, whoa..." Skittering to a stop before his closest friend, Zach noted the older boy's sullen attitude almost immediately; it was one of the few times he'd witnessed it. Placing his free hand on Tyler's shoulder, he stepped a little closer, his eyebrows knitted together with worry. "Are you all right?"

"Guess'so," Tyler replied reluctantly, wheeling around so that he was facing the army jeeps, one packed with his own family and the other with Zach's, instead of the vacant doorway. "I think I did something to piss Ironhide off, though I dunno what...Maybe he just doesn't like me."

"That's doubtful, Ty," Zachary responded, gracing the senior with a teasing smile. "You haven't been here long enough to piss anyone off. Just wait a few days, though, and then..."

He let his sentence trail off when he noticed that Tyler didn't appear to be benefiting from any taunts, harmless or otherwise. Eager to get his friend's mind away from whatever was troubling him, he tugged his sleeve and pointed toward the closest jeep, the one packed tightly with the Eller family members. It had just started up, the engine rumbling hungrily, and two soldiers were sliding themselves in to begin the drive home.

Joanna, Gregory, and their collection of children had begun to wave again, calling out to Tyler, sobbing "Good bye"s and "I love you"s in his mother's tearful case. After a moment of consideration, Tyler broke a little, cracking the smallest hint of a smile and waving back.

The army jeeps roared to life, their grumbling engines drowning out his family's voices. As the Ellers' ride passed through the open door way of the Autobot base, revealing a sky that was beginning to pinken and purple with dusk, Zachary got a sense of how much time had been lost since they'd arrived. He suddenly felt too exhausted to remain on his feet. He was about to crack a yawn, slumping against Tyler's companionable bulk, when his own family's jeep passed.

His mother and father were sitting close together in the back seat, their heads turned to him. On each of their faces, there was a sad smile. _I love you,_ his father mouthed silently through the glass, pressing his hand, his fingers intertwined with his mother's, against the bullet-proof barrier. The gesture was unexpected, which made it hurt in a loving, longing sort of way all the more. Zachary felt a deep pang in his chest as they too disappeared beyond the corner, returning to the reality, where life was somewhat normal, while he stayed here, where it was anything but.

He knew it was childish, but for a split second, he desperately wished that the jeep would come to a halt, the passenger door opening, his parents beckoning for him to join them, to leave this craziness, the contorted reality of his current situation, behind.

What was even more childish was the obdurate ache he felt toward them and their ability to let him go so easily into the hands of the Autobots. He knew that the Autobots were "bad", would not hurt him, and he knew that his parents didn't have any other choice, but the stubborn clamp around his heart refused to acknowledge either of these facts. _Then again, the heart isn't exactly the most reasonable organ, _he noted glumly.

"I know this seems a bit...silly to ask, but how are you getting along?"

Zachary blinked and turned to face Ratchet, who had seemingly snuck up on him from behind. The medic's voice portrayed his worry, and Zach smiled gratefully, tiredly, up at his guardian. "I'm pretty okay. Thanks for asking."

"You are welcome." He then glanced at Tyler, his optic ridges raised at the teenager's deflated appearance. "And you?"

"...Did I do something wrong?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"Ironhide..." Tyler sighed, shaking his head. "Nevermind."

At the mention of the temperamental Autobot, Ratchet's expression tightened. He hadn't been oblivious to Ironhide's fit earlier. "What did he say to you, boy?"

"Never_mind_," Tyler snapped, unexpectedly bitter. Ironhide's unpleasant reaction, as well as the ugly events that had taken place earlier in the day, were beginning to take their toll on him; even he knew that his playful personality had its limits. However, it only took him a second to realize how venomous he had sounded, and he sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry...I just...Is there anywhere we could go to sleep? I don't know about Zach or Antonia, but my leg's killin' me, I can barely keep my eyes open, and I think I really need to go to bed for a bit. I'll be myself again when I get a couple of hours down."

"Of course," Ratchet replied gently, understanding. "Sam and Mikaela can show you all to the human quarters, as I'm sure that Pilar and Antonia would also enjoy some rest in a proper bed. Go with them, Zachary," he added, before his charge could argue, "You need sleep as well."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Uh, good night...?" the redhead tried tentatively, flashing Ratchet a small smile.

The Autobot returned it with his own pleasant one. "Good night to you, both of you, as well. I will see you in the morning."

Sending the boys off with a quick wave of his hand, Ratchet watched the two teenagers turn, walking, or in Tyler's case, rolling toward the large group that had formed at the center of the room. He waited until his charge and Tyler joined whatever conversation was going on, his optics narrowed in both thought and suspicion.

Then, his hands fisted at his sides, he went to find Ironhide.

* * *

_"Well, they encourage your complete co-operation..."_

His voice was distorted and thick, as though he had a heavy cold. His steps were weak and unbalanced, a drunkard's waltz. Apparently, his infection did not give him the rigid grace of a robot, but did provide him with just about everything else.

How unfortunate.

_"Send you roses when they think you need to _smile_..."_

He had tried to smile, had tried very hard. He couldn't. Perhaps that was because he could no longer feel the right side of his face, his features hidden beneath an indestructible mask of metal and wire, of circuitry.

_"I can't control myself because I don't know how, and they love me for it honestly, I'll be here for awhile..."_

He didn't know how much had passed during the course of his transformation, the painful and agonizing transformation that it had been. He didn't know if he was still (_Thomas Richard Duke_) the man he had been only hours before. He didn't know if he was even a human being anymore. All he knew was that he had somehow escaped the confines of his office (_thomas oh thomas dear lord in heaven what happened no no NO NO WHAT ARE YOU DOING NO_) and had run away. He had run away. But to where? Where was he, and...why?

_"So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff..."_

Blood. He had seen a lot of that at the makeshift office, so different from his real one; a dingy little room in a dingy little building lost within Mission City, specifically made so that he could be near the Auto...The Auto...

...What had he been thinking about?

_"Give them all that they can drink, and it will never be enough..."_

Blood. _Blood!_ That's what he had been thinking about!

He had seen a lot blood. His own. The blood of others. He was coated in it. Covered in it. He smelled it everywhere, on his clothes, in his hair, streaked across his face, his skin. He could taste it, raw and coppery, in his mouth. It wasn't all his own.

He had bled, and he had made others bleed. Had he meant to, though?

He could not remember the answer. For the life of him, he could not.

"So give them blood, blood, blood...Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood!"

He cackled and stumbled against an old, rotted chain link fence, barely able to remain on his feet. He had never been so exhausted. It was as though his very energy had been drained from him, sucked from him. Stolen.

_Why do I find that __funny__? _he thought, the voice in his mind panicked and distraught, confused._ What is _happening _to me?_

_"A celebrated man amongst the gurneys..."_

He brushed his hand, wearing its thick glove of metallic skin, against the brick wall of an abandoned building as he passed it. Its dragging fingertips left streaks of dark maroon in their wake.

_"They can fix me proper with a bit of luck..."_

That wasn't true. There was no one that could possibly fix what he had become. There was no one that could fix what he had done.

He had bled. He had made others bleed.

_"The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so..."_

Slumping haphazardly against the building's farthest corner, he cocked his bloodied face up to the full moon. After a moment of difficulty, he stretched his trembling lips into a lopsided, dangerous smile. His single human eye glittered; his optic brightened, as he opened his mouth and let out a desperate, aching howl.

_"But it's really quite alarming 'cause I'm such an awful FUCK..."_

His sentence tapered off, his breath light and quick and gasping, his tongue shocked with the raw curse that had slipped between his teeth. He listened as it echoed and reverberated through the growing dusk. The venom it held, that single, ugly word, seemed as though it had bitten him, had given him physical pain. As though -

"Oh, you pathetic creature. Look at what you have done to yourself."

The voice, cold and almost mocking, reached his ears from the utter darkness and desolation of the abandoned lot. Objects, shapes draped in shadow and barely more than silhouettes, loomed and rose around him like spires, and despite how hard he tried, he could not see who the voice belonged to. Whoever had spoken was hidden.

"Are you in pain?"

A clawed hand, pointed fingers stretched out toward him, suddenly slithered from the darkness until it nearly brushed the tips of his ruined leather loafers. For reasons too jumbled and confused for him to comprehend, he did not pull away from the menacing limb. Instead, a lump suddenly lodged itself in his throat, and his single organic eye filmed over with tears; his human hand twitched, wanting to hold onto something, someone; wanting the cold comfort that his faceless companion was willing to give.

As his eye stormed with salted pain, his tears nearly rising to the surface, he realized that this was the one reminder, the one clue, that there was a part of him, however minuscule, that was still human. His tears, his wet and desperate agony.

"...I am in a_ lot _of pain," he finally managed in a whisper, his disturbing, empty gaze locked on the robotic hand that lay at his feet. "I...a lot...Too much..."

"Let me help you, then." A single, sharp digit curled in, curled out. Beckoned to him. "I can help you, human. But you must be _willing_ to let me help you."

He didn't question why such help was offered. He didn't question who was offering it. He did nothing but push himself into a crawl, a mad, slipshod dash for the open, outstretched, beckoning hand. _Please please please please..._

He did not hear himself whimper, animalistic and afraid and full of desire, full of hope and ache and a burning sort of torment. Full of hate, hate for what he was, hate for who had done this to him. Hate for those who had never once given him aid, who had never had faith in him, the youngest Secretary of Defense on record. The newbie, the freshman, the boy destined to fail even before he could begin. Hate strong enough to contort him, hate strong enough to die for.

He did not see the exposed wires that lined each clawed finger, each fizzling with a red, infectious static. He did not see the two crimson optics, narrowed and deceptive, that watched him from above as he finally collapsed into the robotic palm, too credulous and too weak.

He had never been so grateful to feel another's touch, no matter how cold, no matter how hard and unyielding, and he did not delay expressing his gratitude. Curling into a loose, shivering bundle of someone who had once been human, he rested his single organic cheek against his provider's cool skin and let out a soft sigh. "Thank you."

The claws suddenly snapped closed, sandwiching him in a hand, lined with wire, that infected his infection. Static, raw and foul, zipped from the exposed wiring and into him, charging and changing his cyborg's chemistry into something more, disposing of whatever and whoever he had been less than a day before in an unexpected, unchallenged act.

The moment Thomas Richard Duke fell into the Decepticon's rapacious grasp, he ceased to be Thomas Richard Duke.

But he did not scream.

_I'm the kind of human wreckage that you love._

_

* * *

_

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**Blood**_** Lyrics ~ My Chemical Romance.**


	25. Chapter XXV

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXV_

He did not understand her.

Her train of thought was an unexpected enigma, one whose origins seemed untraceable. He could not comprehend how, or why, had she acquired the strange idea that because she was an adult, her safety was not as important as that of the children's'. Age, in their current situation, meant absolutely nothing; the fact that she was a tiny, organic creature, and therefore without the proper defenses needed to protect herself from the Decepticons, was what was constituted her need for a guardian.

_She does not want a guardian._

Yet another confusing idea, and yet another he was unable to comprehend. None of the Autobots had done a single thing to hurt or offend their newest charge in the few hours she had spent in their company, and therefore spark her uncalled-for denial of a guardian. _He_ certainly had not, anyway.

In fact, he felt as though he had done the opposite; he and Pilar had, as the humans said, "clicked". When Thomas had arrived, she had gone to him for what had appeared to be comfort and protection; she had, after her original apprehension, spoken to him with relative ease, something he had not experienced with anyone outside of his close group of companions. Upon further observation, he had discovered that she even shared quite a few of his personality traits. Unless there was a hidden factor that he had not noticed, there was no reason as to why she should not want him as a guardian.

It was unnerving to think that he had missed something that would have such a big effect on their potential guardian-charge relationship. It made him wonder if he had -

"Excuse me?"

Optimus Prime abruptly snapped back to reality at the sound of the tentative question, his optics brightening as a thin hand was placed against his ankle armor. A pair of dark eyes observed the expression of surprise on his face expectantly.

"I wish to speak with you," she stated.

His hands opened upon her words, his digits flexing as he readied to pick his charge up so that she was more or less level with him. In the moment before he bent low to cup her within his palms, he stopped himself. At ease with him or not, he was foolish to believe that she was comfortable enough with him to be manhandled in the same way Sam, Mikaela, and Will were used to, and before she realized what he was going to do, his hands had fisted once again.

He carefully folded his extensive legs beneath him, his optics focused on the oval of her face. "Yes?" he inquired.

Pilar Marez hugged herself, her arms crossing protectively over her chest as her gaze was slowly, steadily drawn to the group of human beings and Autobots they had subconsciously detached themselves from in order to gain a moment of privacy. She said nothing, her silence contemplative and careful, and he followed her gaze, the only inkling she was giving him in his attempt to make the right connections.

Sam, Mikaela, and Bumblebee were situated around Antonia's sleeping form a few feet away. Telebot was slumped lazily against Sam's chest as the teenager inspected him, his expression alight with curiosity. Bumblebee, meanwhile, was hovering over Antonia, his optics bright and insightful as they watched the All Spark shards within her arms blink to the beat of her heart. Mikaela had slipped her light jacket beneath the younger girl's head as a make-shift pillow, and was speaking to her guardian as she too observed the pattern of the All Spark, her voice soft and considerate of the unconscious girl.

Off to the side, William and Sarah Lennox, their tiny daughter twined between their legs, spoke with Agent Simmons in diffused tones, their eyes occasionally drawn to the approaching forms of Tyler Eller and Zachary Rone, as well as to Antonia.

However, none of them, not even Antonia, held Pilar's attention at the moment. Instead, the young woman's eyes were locked on Jazz, the second-in-command sitting at Antonia's head, his legs crossed beneath him. He didn't appear to be listening to Bumblebee and Mikaela's conversation despite the fact that the two were near him. He was focused intently on Antonia, his facial plates alighting each time the All Spark shards within her blinked. The tip of his finger was resting lightly in the palm of her hand, and it was then that Optimus Prime realized that her fingers were clasped tightly around it.

_The feeling is reciprocated,_ he thought with surprise, his optics widening with realization. _It is true, then. Such things _can_ happen._

Giving his head a small shake, he shifted uncomfortably, a frown blossoming on his face as his gaze was drawn back to Pilar. "I admit that their immediate attachment is a little strange, but I do not believe that there is anything wrong with it. In fact, it might - "

"That is not what I mean," she replied stiffly, her tone low, dangerous.

He blinked with surprise, peering at her angry expression in confusion. Her eyes were no longer dark; something within them had sparked, setting her entire face on fire with well-controlled fury. The sudden change in her soft-spoken temperament made him pull away in alarm, his optic ridges raised in cautious question.

"Look at his chest," she continued in a hiss, her thin brows narrowing defensively as she pointed one accusing finger at the silver Autobot.

_Look at his chest._

Comprehension hit him suddenly and forcefully, a ton of bricks weighing upon his shoulders as he forced himself to follow her trembling finger's focus, straight to his soldier's gleaming chassis. He did it, even though he knew what he would find there, the cause of her unexpected animosity.

His optics traced it, Jazz's ugly, discolored scar, a jagged lightning strike stitched across his armor, the one hint of the operation that had saved his spark.

"You...You paired my daughter, _my_ Antonia, with..." Pilar breathed, her trembling, wounded voice tinged with confusion and suspicion, "...the only Autobot who has been _killed_?"

After Jazz's near-death experience during the battle of Mission City, Ratchet had worked each and every moment of each and every day, desperately attempting to fix the second-in-command so that he would be able to support himself on his own. When the Autobots had made themselves known, Ratchet had still been in the process of reviving Jazz, and therefore, the human population had known of his situation as well. Their reaction had been a mixed one: most were still in utter, furious shock at the idea of giant robots inhabiting their planet, but there were others who were excited, happy, about their arrival. Those were the ones who had listened in for updates on Jazz's health, had become depressed whenever he had taken a turn for the worse, and had been ecstatic when Ratchet had announced that, after hours upon hours of repair, he was once again fully functional. He had no idea whether or not Pilar had been one of the positive few, but she had heard of Jazz's situation one way or another, had seen his scar.

The expression on Pilar's face was no longer so surprising. What she had gone through so far in order to save her daughter's life and secure her ultimate protection was more than enough proof that she cared more about Antonia than she did about herself. Learning that Antonia was the charge of the smallest, and in her opinion, the weakest Autobot, was causing a reaction from her unknown to the mold of her personality. He didn't know whether or not this should interest him, or worry him; as Antonia's well-being seemed to be the only thing that provoked her, she was bound to put up a fight, one that would restore her daughter with a guardian who had not...died.

According to her actions thus far, she intended that guardian to be _him_.

_But...it cann__ot_ _happen. Antonia cannot be _my _charge. It would ruin everything._

However, for the first time since Jazz had confided in him, Optimus Prime was beginning to doubt that what he had been told was worth the backlash it could cause.

His frown deepened as he observed Pilar, her tiny fists clenched at her sides, her black brows still narrowed as she awaited his explanation, an explanation that he had, but could not give.

"...We shall talk, but not here," he murmured after a moment of consideration. "I understand why you are angry with me, and I suppose you have the right to be, but you will respect my wishes and keep your silence until we have proper privacy. There is no reason as to why anyone else should be involved."

Before she could respond to this, he lifted his head, averting her eyes.

"Bumblebee, Will!" he called, his deep voice reverberating throughout the barren room; the two glanced up curiously. "Pilar and I are returning to her home to retrieve a few personal items. Stay on alert. I do not expect to be attacked, but if I am, I will need back-up. While I am doing so," he added, his bright optics landing on Sam and Mikaela, "I would appreciate it if you two would help Antonia, Tyler and Zachary get some proper rest."

"You got it!" Sam replied, flashing him a thumbs-up before hefting Telebot against his chest and scrambling to his feet. Bumblebee and Will nodded simultaneously upon his orders, and though they appeared confused, they did not ask any questions.

Mikaela made as if to gently shake Antonia awake, but Jazz was already cupping the tiny girl in his hands, lifting her to rest against his scarred chassis. Optimus watched his careful movements intently for a moment, his spark giving a slight ache for his companion, before he took a single, big step backward.

Pilar dragged her gaze away from Jazz, her child wrapped within his tentative fingers, to watch Optimus Prime as he gradually folded himself into his alternate form. Her eyes dark once again, she didn't say a word, even as he finished his transformation. She had returned to what she had been before: a worried, exhausted mother, the fury gone from her expression, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. Her fire, fleeting and unexpected, had died.

The driver's door of the newly-transformed blue semi opened, beckoning.

"Get in."

* * *

Ironhide let out a snort of disgust, smoke billowing from his intakes in an ugly cloud as he desperately attempted to control his temper. His thick, fisted hands clenched at his sides, he kicked the heavy door of the weapon arsenal shut behind him and leaned the intense bulk of his weight against it, his optics too bright, his spark within its chamber throbbing painfully.

_My luck cannot _possibly_ be this bad._

William Lennox was his closest friend. That was true, _more_ than true; in the short amount of time he had spent on Earth, he and Will had grown closer than he'd expected, and there was no question as to whether or not he would put his life on the line to protect the human being. But this friendship was the only real one he had made on the tiny, wet planet thus far. Sam Witwicky, Mikaela Banes, Agent Simmons, and a few select others were his companions, but his relationships with them were rather strained. They held him at arm's length more often than not, afraid of what he was capable of, careful to be slow and tentative when around him because of his infamous, rash temper. This was, to an extent, even true with Will's sparkmate, Sarah, and would surely, eventually, be true with their daughter Annabelle, who was still much too young and innocent to know any better.

Because of the way he was treated by most human beings, like a wild animal held on a loose leash, and because of the way he was treated by his only true organic friend, like the sentient being he was, Ironhide tended to keep his distance. He had no desire to extend a trusting hand to anyone else, unwilling or otherwise, as he already had the friendships of those he needed: Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Jazz, Bumblebee, and Will.

As expected, the last thing, the last _slagging_ thing, he wanted to do was babysit some chair-bound sparkling who couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Ironhide shuddered, his optics narrowing with suspicion as Tyler's question rang obnoxiously within his thoughts. Surely such an odd idea, of being his "friend", had a hidden meaning, one he -

"Ironhide!" Ratchet snapped unexpectedly, his voice muffled yet obviously outraged; beneath the bulk of his heavy weight, Ironhide could feel the arsenal door shudder as the medic pounded it angrily with his fist. "Ironhide, open up this slagging door or I will _tear_ it down!"

"Like you could!" Ironhide retorted, one optic ridge cocked skeptically. Despite his skepticism, however, he further pressed himself against the metal barrier, the only thing keeping him from the wrench of a punishment Ratchet was more than likely ready to deal him.

There was an indignant squawk at his comment, followed by a few incomprehensible grumbles as Ratchet gave the current situation some careful thought. After a moment of awkward silence, he sighed unsteadily, and when he spoke, he sounded disappointed. "I cannot _believe_ that an experienced weapon's specialist has resorted to such deplorable behavior."

"That is exactly what I am, Ratchet! A weapon's specialist! Not a baby-sitter!"

"You 'baby-sit' Will readily enough, you childish excuse for a soldier!" Ratchet countered in a hiss. Before Ironhide could respond to this, the medic continued; he could hear Ratchet begin to pace before the locked arsenal door.

"You have embarrassed Optimus Prime, you have embarrassed the Autobot faction as a whole, and you have embarrassed _yourself_. I highly doubt that you care, as you allow your emotions steer your train of thought more often than not, but perhaps it is about time that you start to take others emotions into account as well as your own. Tyler Eller, unlike most human beings would have, extended the notion of friendship to you in the hope that it would be returned. You are surely aware of the usual treatment you receive, are you not?" When met with silence, Ratchet stopped his pacing. His tone was no longer as scalding as it had been. "Friendship is not on the minds of most when meeting you. You know this well, and yet, you deny it when it is offered!

"I suppose that if you return to the boy now, there is a chance that he will forgive you. But - "

"I do not wish for his forgiveness," Ironhide interrupted, seething. "I wish to have nothing to do with him. I do not want the boy, I do not want to spend time with him, I do not want to be his guardian! Why can you not understand that?"

Another bout of silence followed his statement, uncomfortably long. In fact, it lasted so long that, at first, Ironhide thought that Ratchet had finally left him alone. Instead, he was barely able to catch Ratchet's final words, the medic's voice nearly inaudible even to him.

"You have changed quite a lot since Chromia's death, my friend," Ratchet replied weakly.

His footsteps reverberated as he retreated from the darkened expanse of the gargantuan hallway, finally turning the corner.

Ironhide's optics flickered with shock, with empty ache and agony. His fists tightened, loosened, tightened, and loosened, his shoulders slumping as he began to tremble.

_Yes, _he thought absently. _I have._


	26. Chapter XXVI

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXVI_

It was weird, sitting inside of someone.

Pilar sat in the center seat, her arms clasped around her legs, her chin resting lazily in the slope her knees created. She was trying very, very hard not to move or touch him anymore than she had to, unsure of whether or not fidgeting would be uncomfortable for him to experience; she even attempted to keep herself still when he rumbled around sharps bends in the dusty, desert road.

She supposed that she ought to be sitting in the driver's seat, pretending to turn the steering wheel of the immense blue Peterbuilt, pretending to press the brake and the accelerator, pretending to flick on the blinkers at the appropriate times. But, for reasons that were obvious yet too uncomfortable to voice aloud, she couldn't bring herself to do it, to be Optimus Prime's puppet-driver.

He didn't seem to mind. He hadn't said a word of protest when she had climbed into the passenger's seat instead, nor did he appear worried that they would be stopped by some baffled police officer. His windows weren't tinted, so she didn't think he was able to hide the fact that he was driving himself, but perhaps he didn't need to. With the Autobots no longer in hiding, the semi with its extravagant flame decals was no stranger to Mission City's citizens.

As she collected her thoughts, she tried to sort them into the explanation she wanted to give, and into the questions she wished to ask. She didn't know how, exactly, to put what she felt into words without possibly offending Optimus Prime. She didn't hate his soldier, Jazz, and she certainly did not want to sound as though she did. _It is just that…_

Her heart skipped a few beats as her guardian unexpectedly pulled up alongside the long, empty stretch of road, bumbling off to its side. Before them stood the hulking, shadowed forms of Mission City's highest towers. Pastel rays of sunlight peeked from between the buildings as the massive star sank beneath the line of the horizon, casting the endless sky, the broken cityscape, the rolling sand dunes and distant mountains into a diffused amber glow.

The silence that settled between them, interrupted only by the soft clicking of Optimus's engine as it cooled, wasn't uncomfortable, merely heavy with curiosity and question.

Pilar finally cleared her throat, gradually easing herself out of her tight position. As her sneakered feet brushed the floor of the cab, she ducked her head, loops of raven hair curtaining her expression. The tips of her fingers fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

"Do...do you understand why I was angry with you?" she asked softly. Her onyx eyes bore into some indivisible spot on the wrinkled denim of her jeans. "I know that you said you did, but...do you?"

The Peterbuilt shifted uneasily beneath her. "Yes, I do," he replied. "You feel as though Jazz is not fit to care for your daughter, as his spark was once nearly extinguished. You feel as though he is...too _weak_."

Pilar opened her mouth to oppose the word choice, but after a bit of deliberation, she realized that there was no better to way to word it. Despite how harsh it sounded, that was exactly how she viewed Jazz: weak. Her lips slipped shut again.

Optimus Prime continued, his deep voice soothing, but determined. "It is true that Jazz was unfortunate enough to cross Megatron's path. That does not mean that he is an unfit soldier. In fact, he is one of those whom I trust the most." He paused. "There are many reasons as to why he is my second-in-command."

Pilar was silent, her expression still hidden beneath a curtain of ebony locks. Her fingers had stopped their fidgeting, her hands lying motionless in her lap.

It was obvious, by her lack of response, that his short explanation was not good enough for her. His word alone would not relieve her of the doubt she had placed in the slim, silver mech.

_But how much more can I possibly tell her?_

He couldn't tell her _everything_ without confusing her, worrying her, scaring her, angering her. There were tens upon tens of possible reactions that could follow the sharing of his soldier's quiet secret with her, and he could not risk allowing something to occur that would gradually shift their relatively safe, if not comfortable, situation. Moreover, he could not risk losing Jazz's trust in him, because that, above all, was what he needed most from his comrades.

_That is what I need from her as well._

Nothing good would come out of explaining to Pilar why Antonia needed to be Jazz's charge, and him her guardian, so he would not share it with her. He hoped, however, that what he could share, little though it was, was enough.

"Pilar," Optimus began once again; she glanced up at him, her eyes searching to find, without success, his own bright blue pair. "I need you to understand that I cannot share with you the exact reasons as to why Jazz is the perfect guardian for Antonia. There will come a time, I imagine, when he will either provide an explanation himself, or allow me to tell you. That time is not now. All I can promise is that Jazz will do everything in his power to protect your daughter. He will push himself to limits that are far beyond what any other Autobot is capable of because of the very reasons that must remain secret. He will, in effect, be a better, more suitable and capable guardian for Antonia than I, or anyone else, could be. What he needs from you, as well as from the rest of us, Autobot and human alike, is the space to understand what he is currently experiencing and the belief that he is just as strong as the rest. Stronger, even."

He paused again.

"I am requesting much from you that perhaps you are unwilling to give. But I need you to trust me, that I have made the right decision with Antonia's best interests in mind. That, above all, is what I need right now. Your trust, as my charge."

Upon his words, Antonia's small, sweet face popped into her mind with what seemed to be a perfectly audible click. She watched the memory of her daughter slowly lift her head, her wide, brown eyes meeting her's; she watched her smile twitch into a cautious frown.

_"Do you believe me now?"_ the memory questioned, her daughter's voice tight and desperate. _"Because...out of everyone else, I need you to believe me. Just you, Mama. No one else matters."_

_That, above all, is what I need right now. Your trust, as my charge._

Her _trust_? In _him_, a being she had met for the first time only hours before? How could he possibly ask so much of her, to trust him, that he had made the right decision by placing her daughter's life in a weakened soldier's hands?

_Perhaps because he has no other option,_ her conscience whispered in reply. _He has obviously weighed his decision carefully, and there is no question that he knows his own troops, and their limits, better than you do. Besides, he would not place Antonia with an incapable guardian, as he certainly doesn't want the All Spark ending up with any Decepticons._

_It would be best to do as he asks, to trust his decision, whatever it may be, because, in all honesty, you do not have enough information to form your own._

"All right," she mumbled after a few moments' time, pulling her legs back against her chest as she forced the words from between her lips. Clasping her arms around her knees, she desperately tried to tie herself into the tiniest knot possible, pressing her face against her legs. _I have no other choice._ "I trust you."

Pilar jerked slightly as the Peterbuilt beneath her rumbled to a start, its engine growling hungrily, its headlights flickering on and chasing away the growing desert shadows. Her seat belt slipped around her waist as Optimus Prime pulled back onto the dirt road. It fastened into its lock and tightened protectively.

"Thank you."

* * *

"It's a little dark in here - _OW_, Tyler!"  
"Sorry, ginger! My chair has a life of its own!"  
"No, you're just being a jackass, aren't you? And stop calling me ginger."  
"I think it's a cute nickname."  
"Thank you, Mikaela. See, Gingerspice? It's _cute_."  
"I don't want to be cute."  
"Too late."  
"Hold on, everyone. Just stop for a sec', okay?...I need to find the damn light switch..."  
_"'When this hospital goes dark, we're all dead...'"_  
"Telebot, we're fine. No need to be scared."  
"Sam, why are you going in that direction? I believe it is over here somewhere..."  
"Well then, 'Bee, how 'bout _you_ look? I'm not the one with Lite Brites for eyes."  
"Yes, yes. Looking!"  
"Whoa! Who's grabbin' my ankle?"  
"Sorry, Jazz. It's Mikaela, I, uh...I just...the dark freaks me out, I'm sorry."  
"S'okay, babe. Just watch the wires, that's all. I'm a little sensitive down there."  
"Mikaela, if you're really scared, you can come sit on my lap. I wouldn't mind wheeling you around."  
"Tyler?"  
"Yeah?"  
"You will not touch my girlfriend."  
"...Can I touch _you_?"  
"Wait until later, honey."  
"But we're already in the dark..."  
"Which reminds me. 'Bee?"  
"I am trying - Oh! Found it!"

The long, gargantuan hallway flooded with florescent light, revealing twenty air-tight, closed doors, ten on either side; a comforting hum rumbled to life within the walls as the generator started up. Zachary blinked, rubbing his squinting eyes with two fisted hands, and Antonia shifted uneasily within Jazz's cupped palms, creases appearing on her forehead as she fought consciousness. The silver Autobot gently clasped his fingers over her, creating a make-shift barrier that protected her from the bright light. Within seconds, she stopped fidgeting.

"And God said, 'Let there be light!'" Tyler boomed, his voice echoing as he observed the locked doors with interest.

Sam smirked at his comment, Telebot still resting against his thin chest, though his hold around Sam's neck had loosened considerably. The teenager shifted the tiny television set to a more comfortable position and then set off, leading the odd group down the hallway with their footsteps reverberating loudly against its metallic walls.

Tyler rolled along between Mikaela and Zachary, Sam a few steps ahead, Bumblebee, Jazz, and Antonia a few steps behind. "What's behind all these doors?" he asked.

"Bedrooms, mostly," Sam replied loftily. "I don't remember what the Autobots call 'em...something weird. But, y'know, there's one for Optimus, 'Bee, Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet. Me and Mikaela each got our own for those first few nights when we were asked to stay here in case anything happened. Now, most of the time, we sleep at home." He glanced over his shoulder at the others. "'Cause most of the rooms have already been converted into something else, you guys have to bunk with us. Hope you don't mind...I mean, they're pretty big, so we should be fine, and - "

"Did you hear that, ginger?" Tyler squealed ecstatically, sounding so remarkably like a young girl that Sam, Mikaela, and the two Autobots jumped, gaping at him with surprise. Tyler, meanwhile, swept Zachary into a tight hug, causing the young sophomore to gasp with the force of it. "We're going to be roommates! Slumber party!"

"God help me - "

"Hey," Mikaela interrupted, one manicured eyebrow raised. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Tyler replied, turning to face her, Zachary still wriggling in his hold. He blinked when he noticed that he was, suddenly, the center of attention. "Give a hug?"

"No! That...voice, you - "

"You sounded like a chick, man," Jazz laughed, giving his visored head a shake of disbelief.

"Oh." He smirked, finally letting go of his younger friend to shrug. "It's nothin', I just - "

"He does voices," Zachary wheezed in explanation, trying desperately to de-wrinkle his shirt. "Really well."

"Can you do another one?" Mikaela requested, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Who do you want me to do?" Tyler asked, still grinning foolishly. He loved showing off what his mother called his "circus trick". "Give me the name of someone I'd know, though. I can only do voices I don't know after hearing them once or twice."

Sam ran his fingers through his short crop of hair thoughtfully. He wanted to think of the strangest voice he knew, an obvious challenge. "How 'bout...Elmo?"

Tyler let out a snicker, but nodded in acceptance. He pressed the pad of his thumb against his Adam's apple and rubbed up, rubbed down, digging his finger into the soft skin of his neck; he cleared his throat once, twice, three times.

"Elmo says, 'Come play with me!' Ha ha ha, he he he!" Tyler mimicked, his tone obnoxiously high-pitched and unmistakably that of the odd, red puppet.

Sam let out a surprised squawk, exchanging a delighted glance with Mikaela. Bumblebee, meanwhile, leaned in close to him, his circular mouth-guard nearly brushing the tip of Tyler's nose.

"Astounding!" the small, bright mech whispered, anxiously prodding the teeanger's throat with his pointer finger; Tyler made a small gagging noise as he leaned away, rubbing one hand protectively against his Adam's apple. "How did _you_...! What was that thing you did moments before you spoke, that caused you to change the pitch and tone of your voice? Do human beings have a...a control switch for doing that?"

"Not that I know of..." Tyler replied slowly, eying Bumblebee with a trace amount of suspicion. "I found out how to do it when I was younger, just figured it out one day. My mom took me to the doctor when I was a little older, and he said that my vocal cords were disfigured, had weird bumps and stuff in them. He said it wasn't harmful, so I decided to keep it the way it was. It's kind of a cool trick, you know?"

"Kind of?" Sam sputtered, shoving Bumblebee's helmeted head away as he squeezed himself between his guardian and Tyler. "That's an awesome trick! Kick-ass! Can you do another? Just one more?"

Despite the fact that he was tired, and growing increasingly so, Tyler nodded indulgently. "Yeah, one more. Who?"

"Surprise us," Zachary suggested, watching through squinted eyes as Mikaela yanked the hem of Sam's t-shirt, pulling her boyfriend back a few steps so that Tyler had a bit more breathing room. He then turned to Tyler, along with Sam, Mikaela, Telebot, Bumblebee, and Jazz, all of their gazes locked on his absent expression as he repeated the strange actions he had done before, rubbing the bump of his Adam's apple with his thumb. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat, delight sparking within his eyes as he shifted to face his expectant audience.

"I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots!" he rumbled deeply. Though the voice lacked the Autobot's mechanical hum, it was still a close enough comparison that his listeners jerked with both shock and delight, all eyes and optics wide, bright. "I decided to follow the All Spark to Earth, accompanied by my noble soldiers, and look at what it got me: a smart mouth from Sector Seven, an all-American G.I Joe, some twitchy goofball, his hot human girlfriend, two Spanish chicks, a gingersnap, a cripple, and a whole helluvalotta trouble!"

Giggles broke out even before he had finished his impersonation, so unlike that of Optimus Prime's quiet personality. Sam had choked on 'some twitchy goofball'; Mikaela bit her lip, though her snickers ultimately slipped through. Zachary attempted to look affronted at 'gingersnap', but was unable to keep a straight face for very long. Bumblebee giggled from behind one hand, his door wings twitching, and Jazz chuckled, appraising Tyler with one optic ridge raised. "I dare ya to talk to 'im like that, kid!"

Tyler smiled slowly at the hilarious idea, but before he could dwell on it, Zachary tugged on his wrist, glancing blindly around at the others. He had regained his composure, stoutly unwilling to encourage Tyler's nicknames.

"If we're just about done here, I'd really appreciate getting some sleep," he stated, a jaw-cracking yawn puncturing the end of his sentence like a period.

Sam blinked, as though suddenly remembering why they had ventured down the hallway in the first place. "Oh, right! Sorry, just got a little distracted..."

He placed Telebot down on the ground, nudging the tiny transformer towards Mikaela, then stood up and walked toward a door on their left. He punched a quick number code into a keypad beside it, and there was a soft hiss as the door slid open. He beckoned to Zach and Tyler. "C'mon, our room's here. The girl's room is across from our's."

"Any particular reason the bedrooms have code-activated locks?" Zachary questioned, following Tyler in as the blond teen rolled along behind Sam. "Should I be scared?"

"Depends," Sam replied, a grin blooming on his face. "Are you scared of unexpected Decepticon attacks, or getting stuck in here with Tyler?"

Zachary's answer was lost as the door shifted shut behind them, though Tyler's offended squawk and the resulting boyish laughter could clearly be heard just before the lock clicked into place.

In the silence that followed, Mikaela glanced between Bumblebee and Jazz, though her gaze landed on Jazz and stayed there. "I guess that's my cue to get to sleep too..." she said, her eyes lingering on the slim, silver mech's cupped hands. "Do you want me to...bring her in with me?"

Jazz stiffened, though quickly regaining himself, he nodded, carefully handing Antonia over to Mikaela. The small girl did not awaken; she merely shifted so that her forehead rested against Mikaela's shoulder.

At Mikaela's feet, Telebot let out a soft click of recognition, his small optics peering at Antonia's sleeping form from beneath his helmet. However, he remained silent, conscious of the fact that his "mother" was not awake, and therefore, should not be disturbed.

"Is there something you want to - " Mikaela began, only to stop mid-sentence as Jazz turned away, his expression hidden. Her brows furrowing together in confusion, she watched the second-in-command turn the corner and disappear, his footsteps fading from her hearing range.

She glanced up at her guardian, whose optics were locked on the corner, as though expecting Jazz to peek out from behind it.

"Did I do something, 'Bee?" Mikaela asked, despite the fact that she knew quite well that she had not done anything wrong.

"No," the small Autobot scout replied firmly, turning to face her. "There is something going on right now, Mikaela. Something...odd." When she attempted to interrupt him, he held up a hand to silence her. "When I am allowed to explain further, you will be the first one I come to. But, for now, you must remain oblivious. I am sorry."

"It's all right. It's not your fault," Mikaela responded quietly. Hefting Antonia closer to her, she nodded her head toward the door's keypad, her lips pressed into a thin frown. "Can you punch the number in for me? My hands are a little full."

"Of course." He flipped open the pad and did as was asked, all the while keeping his optics focused on her absent expression. Just as she was about to step into the cool darkness of her bedroom, Bumblebee gently snagged her shoulder, turning her toward him.

"Please do not be angry with me," he whispered, his short antennae pressed against his helmeted head in despair. "If I could, Mikaela, if I was _allowed_, I would - "

"'Bee." She rested her slim hand against the tip of his finger and gave him a soft smile. "I'm not mad. I'm just trying to figure out what's happening on my own, that's all. That's allowed, right?" She paused. "I'm sorry if I seemed a little pissed."

His expression softened. "It is all right, and...thank you for understanding. If I may give one more word of advice, leave whatever problems we are having alone for a little while and get some rest." He dropped his hand away, and leaned down so that they were more or less eye-level with one another. "Have a good night, Mikaela."

"You too, 'Bee. Tell the others I said good night," she replied, giving her guardian a quick, friendly kiss on the pointed tip above his mouth-guard. She then ushered Telebot into the bedroom with a nudge of her foot before stepping inside herself, Antonia in her arms.

"If you need anything," Bumblebee said softly, his optics bright from the unexpected smooch he had received, "you know where to find me."

She was still nodding as the door began to slide shut, and the last thing Bumblebee saw before it closed completely was a quick flash of his charge's sweet smile, her teeth sparkling against the darkness like pearls.

* * *

He grinned. Despite how goofy it felt to do so, he couldn't help it.

As he did so, Sam listened to the soft breathing of those who surrounded him. Tyler was a mound of muscle and blanket to his right, splayed out across the floor. After a lot of cursing and mumbling, he had managed to find a relatively comfortable position in which to sleep, even with his heavy cast. Zachary was curled into a tiny ball beside Tyler, his shoulders hunched around a single blanket, a pillow tucked beneath the messy crop of his red hair. He was turned away from them both, facing the closed doorway.

They had not been exaggerating when they'd explained how tired they were. He, Sam, was the only one still awake, even though he had been tired enough himself. He just kept thinking about how much everything had changed in the past few hours: the All Spark had returned in the form of a girl, Scorponok was dead, but Starscream and Barricade were still very alive, and...well, he actually had other teenage guys to spend time with.

In his mind, that was the most important change; the fact that he had male friends who were in the same position as he was, friends he could relate to.

It was true that Mikaela, 'Bee, Optimus, Will, Simmons, and the other Autobots were absolutely amazing, but they did not take the place of Miles, who had been his best friend when his life had still been normal. There were certain things he couldn't explain to them, there were certain jokes they wouldn't get. These things, the ones that they could not do, were what Sam had missed the most out of everything else he'd noticed in Miles's absence.

Staring off into the darkness, his eyes gradually becoming unfocused with exhaustion, he wondered if, maybe, Tyler and Zach would stick around long enough to become the friends he had wanted so badly since the day this mess had begun, nearly a year before. _Maybe..._

His lids slipped shut, his muscles loosened, and, finally, Sam Witwicky fell asleep.

* * *

She placed Antonia atop her bedspread, heard the quiet thump of the younger girl's light weight pressing against the mattress.

Taking a few steps back, she stood, watching her, and she saw Antonia for what she was: dark, olive skin; thin arms, gangly legs; locks of choppy, black hair, a white bandage wrapped around her wounded head; tattered, dirtied clothes; scratches and bruises etched here and there, on her cheeks, her wrists, her knees and ankles; deep rings of purple exhaustion circling each eye. Her expression, even in sleep, was thunderstruck, her features contorted in defense, as though she was fighting some mind-demon away from her dreams.

Her thin chest rose and fell at a rate slightly faster than that of another human being; because of the essence that had embedded itself within her, because of the All Spark.

The shards in question flickered on, flickered off, casting blue light against the slopes of Antonia's body, the walls, the ceiling, and the blankets. The All Spark did not seem to care that it was running a small girl ragged with its needs, that it was putting millions upon millions of lives in danger, that it had restored hope and regret, destruction and war. That it was making them start from scratch, forcing them to try to destroy it yet again and end what had begun so long ago for good.

Mikaela climbed onto the bed beside her, and curled in on herself without bothering to change, her made-up eyes resting on the small face inches away from her own, one moment bathed in light, the next, cast into shadow. _What are you dreaming of, kid?_ she wondered distractedly.

There was tentative movement, a disturbance, at the bed's edge as another person joined them. Mikaela watched as Telebot carefully navigated himself through Antonia's legs and came to a rest at her abdomen, climbing over her hips as he settled beside her.

The sparkling stared at his mother's face, then lifted a small hand and traced one finger down the hill of her cheek, replicating what he had seen Pilar do. At his touch, Antonia's features softened slightly, no longer as tense.

Dropping his hand away, he leaned down and rested his helmeted head against her chest, right above her heart. As he listened to its consistent, quick beat, his optics slowly began to close.

Mikaela felt a burn in her throat, her vision wavering with tears as she watched him. She longed to reach out to the tiny transformer, stroke the side of his smooth facial plate, reassure him that everything would be all right. Instead, she edged just a little closer, her lips trembling slightly as she opened them.

"You'll protect her, won't you, Telebot?" she murmured softly.

Telebot's optics opened again, focused on her, and he pushed himself up slightly, just enough so that his television screen of a chest could be seen from where she lay. There was a soft click, and it turned on, revealing a scratchy scene from a black-and-white movie: a man in a suit was sitting beside a pretty, young woman, who lay limply on a stark-white hospital bed. In his clasped hands was one of hers, and his expression was one of great sadness as he watched her, his eyes locked on her sleeping face.

_"Oh, Molly,"_ the man said softly. _"You're in the one place I can't reach you."_

_

* * *

_

Her dark sleep was punctured with bursts of light and color, snatches of voices, of faces. She knew those voices, those faces, but they were millisecond movies, none of which she could see nor hear completely before they were gone.

Then, there were small stretches when it seemed as though she had switched bodies with someone else, someone who was in a great deal of pain, none of which she could feel but only sense as it radiated from (_him_) in waves. One moment, she could see through (_his_) eyes, standing before a group of men in suits, each of their expressions just as mocking and as doubtful as the next, their gazes filled with disgust and dislike for reasons she couldn't fully understand. All that she knew was that she (_he_) had failed them, and because she (_he_) had failed them, she (_he it's him it's -_) had failed as well...

The next moment, she was stumbling through an alleyway, ankle-deep in tattered newspapers, broken bottles, and molding cardboard, her fingers grazing an abandoned apartment's wall as she passed; her fingers, stained maroon. Blood.

_Oh oh oh Thomas what have you done what have you -_

She blinked. The alleyway with its dirt, muck and trash had disappeared. In its place, a mechanical monster draped in midnight shadow clouded her vision. Her body was being squeezed between its clawed fingers as an ugly current of red static forced its way through their exposed tips and into her, eating her insides and branding her with stinking, bleeding burns. Her mouth was a maw, a black hole in which a scream born of pain, agony, and ultimate release clawed its way up her throat and into the cool, night air.

The creature, its claws clicking with delight, smiled.

Together, she and it created a deadly chorus consisting of a single, unbroken shriek and a cackling, mad fit of inhuman laughter, a chorus that echoed, echoed, echoed -

Barely a second passed, and the image disappeared, the image of a pointed silhouette surrounded by the looming shadows of abandoned buildings and the backdrop of starry, moonless sky.

_Who?_ she whispered into the unconscious darkness left in its wake. _Who was that, screaming?_

There was a pause, before the All Spark responded in its soft, genderless tone: _It was no one, Antonia._

_Go back to sleep._

Because she had no other choice, she did as she was instructed.

There were no more nightmares.

* * *

"Do you have everything you need?"

Pilar nodded, placing the last of her bags into the passenger's seat. She had managed to pack their few belongings, besides kitchen appliances and the like, into four suitcases. They had never had much to begin with, so there was nothing incredibly important that she was leaving behind.

After she climbed into the driver's seat, Optimus Prime closed the door behind her, locked it, and once again slipped the seat belt around her waist. Pilar mumbled a quiet thank you, and then rested her head against the seat's headrest, closing her eyes. She did not open them, even as he began to rumble down the road, even as the apartment that had been her home disappeared around the corner. She had locked its door, and she had left it, not knowing whether or not she would ever come back.

Ten minutes passed in complete silence. He had questions, many questions, but he didn't want to begin a conversation if she didn't want to speak, and clearly, she did not. It was only when he focused his hidden optics on her, for just a moment, instead of the road, that he knew why.

She was crying, quiet tears slipping down her olive cheeks in slow, curving rivers.

She was crying for reasons he understood at once: the loss of her home, worry for her daughter, for her friends, for herself, and perhaps, for more reasons, reasons he did not understand, did not know of yet. But, he realized something else, something more. She was crying only because she did not think he could see. She had searched for his optics and she had not found them. Because he noticed this, because he had already begun to care for her despite the short time they had spent together, he did not let her know that he knew, and had seen.

Instead, he pulled her seat belt just the slightest bit tighter, the closest to a hug he could manage, and remained quiet.

By the time they arrived at the Autobot's base, Pilar had fallen asleep.

Each of her ten, thin fingers were curled delicately around her seat belt.

"These images...may disturb you," the news anchor sputtered, looking, sounding, incredibly hollow. "It would be best if all children were asked to leave the room..."

_Primus,_ he thought, his optics focused on the huge screen. _To disturb would be an understatement._

Scene after scene after scene appeared, flashes of bloodied, broken, human bodies; maroon hand prints imprinted on white walls; immaculate rugs stained with blooming, red flowers born from droplets of blood; broken desks, scattered books, shattered light bulbs, uprooted office plants lying lifelessly in corners, their pots of dirt smashed open, brown clumps of raw earth scattered everywhere; ripped curtains, cracked windows, huge holes punched into the plaster.

People. People without limbs, some without heads, those of whom could only be seen beneath white blankets. Hands, feet, legs, arms, torsos lying around like mismatched puzzle pieces.

_A man did all of this destruction,_ Ratchet reminded himself absently. _A human being. A man._

William Lennox and Reginald Simmons stood beside him, their faces pale and thin, as the three of them listened to the hurried, frightened, sobbing voice of the only man who had lived through the devastation.

"T-t-thomas j-j-just went crazy...There was...was something _wrong _with him...His face was...was...infected with s-s-something...I thu-thu-think he had a duh-duh-disease of some sort...Buh-buh-but uh-uh-uh-I just...juh-juh-just...I...Ah..._Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyy_..."

The man let loose a hysterical, strangled wail, and the connection was cut short.

On the wide screen once again was the face of the anchorman, his eyes staring without seeing. "The biggest manhunt of the century has begun for the capture of Secretary of Defense, Thomas Duke. The President himself has requested that, for the next few nights, citizens of Mission City and the surrounding areas stay indoors while members of the U.S army and police force hunt Duke down, and the streets will be patrolled twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, until he is found...But...you have seen what he is capable of." The anchor's left eye gave a twitch. "That should be warning enough."

Ratchet leaned forward and clicked the computer screen off with one push of a button. He then rested his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped as images ran through his mind at a speed that was frightening. Hand prints, scattered limbs, broken bodies...

Simmons took a step toward him. His features had hardened considerably. "Duke didn't do this all on his own, did he?" he asked, his voice hoarse with shock.

"No." The Autobot didn't look up, refused to lift his head, even as he spoke.

"I have a feeling that Thomas is no longer human."

* * *

A shooting star fell to Earth exactly three hours, twenty-two minutes and fifty-five seconds later, mere miles away from the Autobot base.

No one was awake to see it.


	27. Chapter XXVII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXVII_

One step, two steps, three steps, stumble. Shuffling, clumsy feet, bloodied loafers leaving smeared, maroon footprints amidst the dust of the dirt-packed lot.

The moon, bloated and tinted a soft yellow, had disappeared beneath a blanket of clouds, the desert landscape below it falling into impenetrable shadow. On the outskirts of Mission City, the only light that stood between the gleaming city itself and the black, silent unknown that was the sand dunes, the pointed silhouettes of the faraway mountains, and the infinite expanse of sky, was a single, naked bulb attached to the side of an abandoned wooden shack. It flickered softly as tiny bugs whizzed and smacked into its fragile glass casing, casting contorted shadows against the ground.

A single, naked bulb. And one small, red optic. It, however, did not flicker.

Upon reaching the center of the lot, Thomas Duke stopped his drunken waltz, his head cocked to one side, and listened intently. He listened to the rust, the decay, of the hulking masses surrounding him, scattered randomly and without care within the square of sagging wire fence. He listened, and he stared, waited, watched.

Slowly, the masses began to take shape amidst the darkness, and he let out a soft sigh. _Trains,_ Thomas thought absently, sadly, taking a shuffling step toward the closest one. The metallic corpses were nothing like the noble beasts they had once been, streaking down their iron tracks and blowing up enormous clouds of desert dust in their wake. Beautiful dangers, beasts born of speed, of smoke.

Abandoned and unwanted, they were dying slowly and painfully, without a proper burial, without a whispered prayer or a quiet hymn, in their own forgotten cemetery.

_Just as I am._

The tattered, fading embers of his humanity registered their connection, so simple and so damning though it was. Continuing to take cautious steps toward the closest locomotive, he reached out toward it, pressing the palms of his hands against its shattered headlight. His fingertip circled the broken bulb, quietly understanding the vehicle's despair, so closely related to his own.

It was the most he had come to being, _feeling_, human since - _Do not want to think about it, no, no._ Giving his head a weak shake, he let the incomplete thought burn out before he could be reminded of its end.

Instead, he continued to encircle what remained of the headlight, tracing its edge. He wished he could help the vehicle, save it. Wished, and wanted.

The transformation began even as he leaned over and pressed his forehead against its bumpy, ruined surface.

With each solid pound of his cybernetic heart, a fork of red static issued from within him, etched across his forearms and through his hands, into the train's rusting carcass. He brought it to life, summoned forth what it had been, its soul of steam and strength. He felt it shift and grind beneath his touch; he felt its face appear beneath his fingers, its scarred features, and within a moment, they were nose-to-nose, its yellow optics staring into his own.

He lifted his head and pulled away, meeting its empty gaze without the slightest trace of fear.

_Help me,_ he begged in silence. Streaks of liquid-red pain leaked out of his faded human eye, the thin circle that was his gray iris. _Will you help me?_

It did not answer him in vocalized words, perhaps because it did not even have a voice to answer him with. It did, however, let out the softest, hoarsest attempt at a train whistle he had ever heard, nothing compared to its strongest scream, so full of power and hunger.

Thomas's half-smile was bloody, gap-toothed, childish and trembling. _You are a lovely wreck, my new friend. So lovely._

_And you are the first of many._

_

* * *

_

There was nothing left for him here, on this simple, barbaric planet.

Megatron, the force that had directed him here in the first place, was dead, a sunken ghost at the very bottom of Earth's deepest ocean. Not that he cared, of course. In fact, there was no thought that made him happier than that of his former leader, his biggest bully and his most irritating obstacle, rusting to dust beneath the rolling waves.

Barricade was no longer an ally. He did not like Starscream, and Starscream did not like him. They had rallied together against the Autobots for the Spark Child, because it had been their only choice...and, at the time, he had not been ready to depart, not yet. He had not seen the harm that could come of Barricade's allegiance, if only temporary. There had been a small chance that they would capture the fleshling infused with the All Spark, and he had been willing to take it, as they would have either won against the Autobots and captured the girl, or Barricade would have been offlined in the attempt. It was, in his optics, a win-win situation.

Unfortunately, neither had happened. The Autobots had the girl, and Barricade was still online, even if Scorponok was not.

What was worse was that Soundwave was due to hit Earth within a mere hour's time. Truth be told, he could not have asked for a worse Decepticon to arrive. Not only would Soundwave somehow blame him for Megatron's death, Barricade would fuel this blame, ally himself with Soundwave, and destroy him before he had the chance to become the new leader of Decepticons. It was all, somehow, rather clear to him that this would happen, but what was more was that he was _convinced_ it would.

It was time to leave, to find reinforcements and bring said reinforcements to Earth to rain Hell upon the Autobots and their pathetic human companions.

Barricade and Soundwave, unlucky enough for them, did not fit into this equation. Neither could fly; Soundwave was crash-landing to Earth, and Barricade's alternate mode was an automobile. So, boo-_fragging_-hoo, he would leave them here and allow them to make whatever mistakes they liked. The Autobots would have the pleasure of destroying the two outcasts in their own time, before he, Starscream, self-proclaimed leader of the Decepticons, returned to destroy them. A wonderful, destructive cycle, the dominoes tipping one by one...

His optics narrowed as he peered through the rotted chain link fence, and a sneer of a smile, looking incredibly out-of-place on his strange face, further contorted his ugly features.

As every proper gentlemen should, of course, he was leaving only the best of parting gifts.

The cyborg he had discovered was of no practical use to him, as the creatures it created were nothing more than Cybertronian zombies incapable of following the simplest of orders and were rather dangerous to even attempt to control; he knew this because, though he watched it be born before his very optics, he had felt no spark explode into existence. He had seen such half-lifes before, long ago. It was one of the very reasons their war had begun, because of the misuse of the All Spark's incredible power...and it was from this past experience that he knew that they, those half-lifes, caused nothing but chaotic destruction.

Which was absolutely perfect for Optimus Prime and his _noble_ soldiers.

There was a part of him that yearned to stay, if only to watch the trouble unfold, but there was another part, a much bigger part, that knew better. It was time to leave.

Giving one last glance at Thomas Duke and his locomotive companion, Starscream turned and leaped into the late-night air, shifting, grinding, transforming. With a roar of his engine, he shot up into the sky, disappearing within seconds amongst the cloud cover.

The slim jet was gone, as though he had never been there to begin with.


	28. Chapter XXVIII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXVIII_

The tips of her fingers grazed the enormous screen as though she was attempting to push the thin boundary away and enter the recycled image trapped within its frame. The dark, bruised circles around her eyes temporarily disappeared, the light emitting from the pixelized screen reflecting within her irises and setting each and every feature of her face aglow.

Her chest rose and fell as she drew an uneasy breath. "You believe that..._Antonia _has caused this?" Pilar whispered in weak disbelief.

Ratchet's shadow, thrown against the opposite wall, shifted as the medic took a step toward the young woman. "Caused it...No," he replied quietly, shaking his head. "Rather, she caused it indirectly. I do not think that she had any idea what she was doing, _really _doing, to Thomas when she pushed him away. It was, I am almost certain, a simple act of self-defense. However, whether infecting him was her intention or not is not our main concern at the moment, as it cannot be proven with what little information we have. Our main concern," he continued, lifting a hand and pointing one, thick finger at the screen, though his optics remained locked on her small silhouette, "is how we're going to stop him."

"...I thought...The police..." she murmured. Letting her sentence die, she turned away from the huge monitor and faced him, her expression indecipherable.

"You heard that poor man's description of what has happened to Thomas," Ratchet responded. "You have witnessed the carnage that he has caused all on his own. Even without having met him yet myself, I can guarantee you that if the forces tracking him down aren't extremely careful, the causalities will mount, and quickly." He glanced back at the gargantuan screen, at the frozen image of bloodied hand prints drying on a once-immaculate white wall. "I am unsure of whether or not human weaponry will have an impact on him, but, considering what has happened thus far, I can make the assumption that any and every organic being, armed or otherwise, who decides to confront him will have quite a bit of trouble capturing, much less destroying, him. As I told William and Reginald earlier," he nodded in the direction of the two men mentioned, standing silently side-by-side a few feet away, "it is likely that he is no longer human at all, in nature or otherwise, and therefore harder to attack, to wound.

"Because of this, the fact that the police force hunting Thomas down may not hold up against him, two of us, two Autobots, that is, shall be accompanying them on their search for a designated five hours at a time. Then, those two will return and exchange places with another two. This will continue until Thomas is either found, or killed."

Ratchet glanced at William Lennox, who had stepped forward. "Do you have something to add? Did I forget to mention anything?"

"No, no, I think you've got it covered," Will replied. "I just wanted to remind you that Reggie and I will be switching shifts too. One of us will go down to the Resource Center, see what can be done there, if anything can be done at all. The other will come with whoever is going. Speaking of which...?" He raised his thick eyebrows in question.

"Ah, yes! Optimus Prime and Bumblebee shall be the first two to go out," Ratchet stated. He glanced at the door as though expecting them to appear, then shifted his gaze back to rest on Will's shadowed face. "I would go, but our newest charges will be waking soon, and I'd like to give them each a check-up, clean their wounds, re-wrap their bandages and the like. Ironhide is currently in recharge, or I suspect he would go. As for Jazz...ah, he specifically requested to remain here for the time being." Turning his back to the three humans in order to ignore the curious glances that passed between them, Ratchet headed for the exit.

"Undoubtedly Optimus and Bumblebee are going to leave within a few moments' time," he said briskly. "Will, are you going to accompany them, or is - Oh!" He stopped mid-step as the thick, metal doors opened with a soft swish, revealing the silhouette of the Autobot leader himself, Bumblebee's bright optics peering out from behind him.

"Hello, Ratchet," Optimus greeted him, his steady gaze drifting over the medic's shoulder; it rested first on Will, then Simmons, and, finally, Pilar. "Have you informed our charges of what has happened?"

"Those who were awake to hear it, yes," Ratchet replied, giving him a nod. As he stepped to the side, allowing the tall Cybertronian into the room, Bumblebee approached him, looking uncomfortable and tugging weakly at a small spot on his helm.

"Ratchet!" the small scout complained irritably. "My antenna, it is _stuck _- "

"Again? I just...Primus, why do those silly things react to your emotions, anyway? What is the point?"

Watching their struggle in amusement for a moment, Optimus Prime then approached Will and Simmons, crouching before them when he was close enough. Despite the fact that both men unconsciously took a step back as his incredible size overpowered them, Will smiled easily up at him, erasing any trace of fear.

"Hey, big guy," he greeted companionably. "You're gonna be careful out there, right?"

"Of course," Optimus replied, returning the grin with a small one of his own. "I ask, however, that you do the same."

"No worries. I'm careful by nature."

"Oh, yes? Must I remind of you of last year's battle, William?"

The soldier's smirk grew, his teeth bright against the base's gloom. "All right, all right, that's a load of bull. But I'll be careful today, I promise. Shouldn't be too hard anyway, considering I'll be hanging around the Resource Center for the next five hours and spending another five with you." He jerked a thumb in Simmons's direction; the ex-Sector Seven agent glanced up as if on cue, his eyes wide. "Reggie's going with you guys first, so - "

"I can't wait for some good ol' quality time with everyone's favorite big-ass 'bot!" Simmons interrupted dryly, flashing a small smile. "Five wonderful hours! Woo_hoo_!" With that, he marched toward the open doorway, one calloused hand clasped on his head to keep his cap from tumbling off. "We goin' or what?"

Still standing beside him, Will snickered good-naturedly at Optimus Prime's weary expression. "He doesn't mean it. He's just being Simmons."

The Autobot raised an optic ridge as he watched the ex-agent turn the corner and disappear into the dimly-lit hallway beyond. "Yes, yes. I know." He paused for a moment, his expression softening with thought. "He is...strange."

"You're telling me," Will replied loftily, rolling up his shirt sleeve and absently checking his wrist watch. Upon reading its small, glass face, he let out a soft curse. "I've got to get going...Told 'em I'd be there almost five minutes ago."

"Told who?" Optimus inquired.

"Eh, a bunch of G.I suits I'm supposed to meet down at the Resource Center. They want to clear a few things up." He frowned. "We're not the only ones who thought that that man's description of Tommy was a little funny, maybe even meant something more than implied. They want me to brief them...Anyways, if I don't get there soon, I'm in for an ass-kicking."

Giving Optimus a salute, Will turned on his boot heel and started toward the door. "I'll see you later!" he called over his shoulder before he too disappeared around the corner.

It was then, as soon as Will's footsteps faded from his hearing range, that it became obvious to the Autobot that, with the exception of Ratchet and Bumblebee muttering and struggling together in the corner, he and Pilar were the only ones left in the room.

She hadn't left her spot since he'd entered, still kneeling before the enormous screen with her face upturned to stare at it, at the maroon hand prints frozen beneath the glass. He could not see her expression from where he stood, but he supposed that it was one of exhaustion; she had slept for a good five hours since they had returned to the base the night before, but that was all, and she, like the rest of their charges, needed more.

His spark flickered with growing regret. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to shake her awake, just to force her to listen to a situation that was growing worse every hour Thomas Duke was not found. She would have learned of it eventually.

When Pilar spoke, her voice was unexpected, loud in the near-silence of the shadowed monitoring room. "He was a bad man...ambitious, and selfish," she whispered as she lifted her hand and placed it against the screen so that it rested within the palm of one bloody hand print. "But he did not deserve this fate. To be hunted and cornered, captured, like some sort of animal, through no fault of his own." She sighed. "No one deserves that."

Optimus Prime remained silent, confused by her words, his optics searching her back, her shoulders, the loose, raven tail of her hair, the only pieces of her that she allowed him to see. He remained silent because, for the first time in quite a long time, he did not know how to answer, what to say.

When he did not reply, Pilar turned toward him. He had been correct in his assumption that she was still tired. Without the light of the monitor to chase them away, two identical rings of purple exhaustion reappeared around her eyes.

He frowned in disapproval. "You need more rest."

In response, she tilted her head slightly to the side, inspecting him closely. "You are leaving soon?" she asked, as though she had not heard his comment.

"Yes, in a few minutes," he responded. When he noticed that her own frown deepened upon his words, just enough for him to notice, he took a step toward her, a hand outstretched in cautious question. "Is something - "

_"OPTIMUS PRIME!"_

Both he and Pilar jumped with surprise at the sudden cry, his optics wide, her shadowed eyes locked intently on the closed door. Out in the hallway, there was a pattering of booted feet, some muttered curses, "Get out of my way, Reggie! I was the one who got the call, not you!", and then, the entryway shifted open. Will Lennox and Agent Simmons nearly tripped over each other in their effort to get inside, their weary, lined faces extremely pale. As Ratchet and Bumblebee looked on, the medic's hands dropping away from Bumblebee's freed antenna, the two men stumbled toward Optimus Prime, each desperately attempting to speak above the other.

"You won't _believe _this! There's - "  
"There's a, a _robot_! Sitting right in the middle of - "  
"Main street! It's one of you guys! Uh...I think, I don't - "  
"We asked 'im what the color of it's eyes were! Y'know, 'cause blue means good - "  
"Red means bad, yeah, yeah - "  
"And...They're _yellow_. What's _yellow _s'posed to mean, huh?"

Gasping for breath and falling into silence, Will and Reggie stared at Optimus Prime in utter confusion, awaiting an answer, an explanation. From Will's pocket, a hand held radio crackled with static, but it was ignored.

The Autobot leader blinked once, slowly, attempting to fully understand the little information he had been told.

_A robot...A Cybertronian? Sitting in the middle of the street?_

_Yellow optics...?_

"It is just...sitting there?" he questioned, one optic ridge raised in skepticism. He glanced at Ratchet and Bumblebee. The latter returned his stare with a shrug of bewilderment, his door wings twitching with worry. Ratchet, however, had his arms crossed over his chassis, a deep frown etched on his faceplate. His expression was thoughtful.

"That's what I was told, yeah," Will replied, scratching the back of his head. "I don't get it either, but, apparently - "

"Its optics are yellow? Are you absolutely sure?" Ratchet interrupted abruptly.

Will nodded, looking frustrated at their simple repetition. "Yes, yes, _yes_! It's one of _you_, it's sitting in the middle of the damn _street_, its optics are _yellow_, and it's scaring the hell out of everyone! Can we please - "

"Let me have your radio," Optimus Prime instructed, bending at the knees with one hand stretched out toward the army commander. With a sigh and a grumble, Will grudgingly retrieved his radio from his back pocket and dropped it into the Autobot's huge hand, watching intently as Optimus popped off its back and fiddled with its circuitry. After a moment, he pressed his fingers to the side of his helm, interrupting the radio's signal and substituting it with his own. Absently sliding the radio's plate back into place, he returned it to Will, his optics narrowed with determination.

"This is Optimus Prime," he stated through his hijacked radio connection. "Please alert me as to what is going on."

"O-oh! Hello, sir!" a young, sheepish voice, a soldier's, replied in surprise. "W-well, there...There isn't much to tell. It isn't doing anything, sir. We've been attempting to communicate with it, and it doesn't even seem to be aware of us. It's just...sitting here, right in the middle of Main Street."

"Can you describe what it looks like?"

"It's...uh, its eyes are yellow. It's pretty...pretty big. If I had to guess, it's only a few feet shorter than you. But it's thicker; its armor plating is, anyway. Thick and black, rusted away in some places."

_Who could this possibly be?_ he thought to himself. Cybertronian faces slipped through his processor at top-speed, yet none of the thousands he could recall matched even this general description. Not a single one.

"It's been making strange noises," the soldier continued loftily. "Weird clicks and clunks, like there's something banging around inside of it..." The young man tapered off into silence, and there was a soft rustling, a bit of static, as he directed his radio's speaker toward the source of the noise. Just as he had said, there was a series of low, guttural clicks and squeaks, then a louder, hollow bang.

As the odd sounds died away, the soldier returning the radio's speaker to his ear, Optimus Prime began to pace. Ratchet, Bumblebee, Will, Reggie and Pilar watched his every step with nerve-wracking intensity. "Is there anything else you could tell me about it?" he asked distractedly. _Why do I not know who this is? Why?_ "Anything at all?"

"Yes, I...think..." The soldier hesitated.

"Please, go on. I must know."

"Well..." He let out a nervous sigh. "I think this thing might be a train."

"...What?"

"A train, sir, one of those old ones. In it's...uh, a-alternate mode? Y-yeah."

He stopped pacing as abruptly as he had started. "What has given you this idea?"

"It...it _looks _a bit like one, with that heavy, black metal as its armor...It's got one of those circular train lights on its forehead, too. And..."

"Continue."

"...Well, y'see, Mission City's got an abandoned shipping yard, right? It hasn't been in use for about...I dunno, fifty years or so, ever since the railroad industry in Nevada died out, became obsolete. Even though it's been abandoned, nothing's been done about its trains. The company that ran the yard just left 'em there to rot." He gave a cough of a laugh, trying desperately to control, to hide, the trembling that threatened to disrupt his steady voice. "Funny thing is, though...Y'know those trains?"

Optimus Prime didn't answer, as he knew without being told. However, he didn't have to answer; the soldier continued on his own accord.

"They're gone. All of 'em."

The connections began to form even before the young man had finished his statement. All at once, he remembered Will's words from barely five minutes before: _"We're not the only ones who thought that that man's description of Tommy was a little funny, maybe even meant something more than implied..."_

He remembered the description itself, the one that lone survivor of Thomas's devastating attack had given while maroon tears had dripped down his cheeks: _"There was...was something wrong with him...His face was...was...infected with s-s-something...I thu-thu-think he had a duh-duh-disease of some sort..."_

Most importantly, he remembered the night he had felt Telebot's unexpected spark into life; he remembered Antonia's hands, her arms, the shards within them flickering on and off as she held her tiny creation against her..._Her creation._

It was clear, now: Thomas Duke, infused with the All Spark, had the same power as Antonia.

He could create life. _But the life he creates..._

"Optimus! Optimus Prime, what has happened? Where are you going?" Ratchet cried, stumbling after his leader as he barreled down the hallway, already in mid-transformation. Behind them, Bumblebee followed, his engine revving. There was an anxious pit-pat as Will, Reggie and Pilar desperately attempted to keep up as well, their feet slamming hollowly against the metal floor.

"Thomas has been infused with the All Spark!" Optimus Prime stated hastily; his wheels squealed loudly as he made a sharp turn around the corner and into the front hall, the base's gargantuan entrance at its end. "He is using its power to create Cybertronian life in the same way Antonia created Telebot! But...Something..._wrong_..." His sentence dissipated into a soft mutter, too low for Ratchet to hear above the ensuing chaos.

However, the medic had heard enough, more than enough. He stopped his reckless, stumbling charge after the fully-transformed Peterbuilt, his optics widening with bright shock. He had barely a second of thought - _Thomas, All Spark?_ - before Bumblebee slipped around the corner and, going much too fast to stop in time, collapsed the Autobot's legs from beneath him as he sped through them and toward the open entryway.

"I'm so sorry, Ratchet!" the Camaro yelped, though he made no effort to slow down; in fact, he did the opposite, speeding up so that, when an unsuspecting Jazz poked his head around the corner of the infirmary, he nearly crashed into him as well.

"What the hell, 'Bee?" Jazz snarled, dodging clumsily away in the very nick of time and glaring hard at the small scout's bumper as it disappeared in a cloud of desert dust. "Where's the fraggin' fire?"

"Not a fire!" Bumblebee cried above his own, growling engine and the growing distance between them. "Thomas Duke!"

Jazz's expression lit with comprehension, and he glanced, unsure, between the receding forms of Optimus Prime and Bumblebee, and Ratchet, where the medic still sat sprawled on the hallway's gleaming floor. Will, Simmons, and Pilar, each of them panting breathlessly, were coupled around his shoulders.

He shifted uneasily, quickly forcing himself to make a decision. It was, however, a hard one.

"I...I gotta go, Ratch'! I gotta help 'em!" Jazz stuttered, leaping out of the open entryway, shifting, grinding, squealing, already in his transformation process. "Hold down the fort, man!"

"WHAT?" Ratchet bellowed, his optics widening another disbelieving inch as he pushed to his skittering feet. Jazz's reply was the high shriek of his tires burning against the hard packed dirt road, and then, he too followed Optimus Prime, bouncing along potholes and kicking up desert muck in his wake. By the time Ratchet reached the open doorway, he was nothing more than another early-morning shadow, racing along the abandoned strip of road that led to the glowing silhouette of Mission City.

There was a soft pitter-patter of small, human feet and, when the medic glanced down, Pilar was standing beside him, one hand resting against his ankle armor in the same way she had laid it upon Optimus Prime's. Her fingers were gripping its thick edge in anxiety.

"I hope they are all right," she said quietly, her eyes narrowed as she attempted to see through the softening darkness. Beside her, the Autobot medic scoffed dramatically.

"_They _will be fine," he replied in a voice that was too confident, too hollow, to be real. "It is _us _you should be worried about."

She glanced up at him, one thin eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Why?"

"_Why_? Suppose we are visited by Starscream? Or Barricade?" Ratchet muttered, pinching the soft space between his optics with two fingers. "Those three _superheroes _decided to leave the base unguarded but for a sleeping soldier and a medic. What am I expected to do if they decide to come knocking? Throw scalpels at them? Give them a surprise check-up?"

Against her better judgment, Pilar cracked a smile; a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Perhaps, if that is the case, we should close this door? It might give the wrong impression."

There was a moment of silence as Ratchet scrutinized her. "I believe," he said, finally, loftily, as one big hand darted out to punch in the security code that closed and locked the base's thick door, "that the correct, human term for you, young one, is 'wise-ass'." Then, giving her a playful nudge against the back of her head, the two turned away, toward the hallway.

Standing before them, looking bed-wrinkled, confused, and squinty-eyed with sleepiness, were the rest of the Autobot charges: Sam, in a pair of striped boxer shorts and a plain, white tee; Tyler, slumped in his wheelchair, still clad in his tattered clothes from the morning before; Mikaela, wearing a sweatshirt much too big for her and a pair of Sam's sweatpants; Antonia, holding a dozing Telebot in her arms and, like Tyler, dressed in the ruins of her day-old clothes; and Zachary, standing close to her, one hand locked tightly around her thin, glowing forearm. For a moment, Pilar didn't understand why. Then, she remembered: _He's absolutely blind without his glasses._

She blinked at the unexpected sight of them, and then watched, their gazes slowly following her own, as Will Lennox and Agent Simmons hurried out of sight, turning the corner into the next hallway; leaving her and Ratchet to explain everything that had happened on their own.

The questions began even before she was able to say "Good morning".

"Where's Optimus?" Sam asked hoarsely, his eyes searching first her face, then Ratchet's. "Where's 'Bee?" Mikaela questioned at the same moment. "Where did Jazz go?" Antonia inquired. "Is he with them? Did they go somewhere together?" The three teenagers, realizing that they had voiced their questions aloud all at once, glared at one another and opened their mouths to ask again.

Tyler, however, beat them to it, using his hands to propel his wheelchair forward a few feet. He smiled charmingly.

"What did we miss?"


	29. Chapter XXIX

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXIX_

It was just as the young soldier had described.

Incredibly tall, towering above the smaller, stouter buildings that surrounded it, but thick as well, heavily built. Its rough, onyx armor was spotted with harsh, flaking blotches of rust and scarred with innumerable lacerations. Two faded, yellow optics peered from beneath the shadow of its rudimentary helmet, gazing emptily into the early-morning air; even as the three Autobots approached it, their tires whispering cautiously against the pavement, it didn't appear to acknowledge their arrival. Instead, it clicked and hummed softly to itself, an echo of a whistle issuing from the slits of its silver facial plate in a thin, wavering cloud of steam. It was obvious that the soldier had been correct, too, in his assumption that this creature had the alternate mode of some ancient train. If its weak whistle wasn't enough proof of this, then the small, circular light implanted within the forehead of its helmet, the metal rims of flaking train wheels lining its arms, and the stout, chipped chimney jutting awkwardly from one shoulder certainly were.

Despite the fact that the Cybertronian had yet to move, or do anything, for that matter, it had gathered around it a large crowd of spectators: suited businessmen with briefcases hanging, forgotten, from their hands; teenagers dressed in shorts and sandals, diverted on their way to school; construction workers, clad in overalls and leaning on their heavy tools; shopkeepers; mothers, fathers, children. Amidst the large, whispering crowd, soldiers and policemen alike were desperately attempting to order them away to no visible avail. If anything, the collection of on-lookers had grown, and was continuing to do so.

He should have anticipated something like this happening, a distraction from eradicating the problem immediately and efficiently, but it bothered him nonetheless. _If something was to happen, these people, all of these people,_ he thought, _are potential victims. They must be brought under control._

Optimus Prime transformed, giving the lead for Bumblebee and Jazz to follow suit.

Their awaited arrival brought forth hearty clapping and the occasional shout or appreciative whistle. Younger boys and girls squealed excitedly, their eyes wide and locked on the Autobots as they wriggled in their parents' arms or shoved at their imprisoning legs. The sight of them, the children, some barely able to walk on their own, increased his worry, which was soon backed by irritation and disappointed anger. _What exactly are these parents thinking, allowing their children to witness this? Do they not realize the danger involved?_

It was then it occurred to him that no, perhaps they did not.

"Bumblebee, Jazz." The two accompanying Autobot soldiers glanced up at the sound of their names, Bumblebee dropping his hand in mid-wave, one that had been directed at a group of elementary school students who had been boggling him with wary excitement. Optimus Prime looked at one, then the other, his expression stern, thoughtful. "Aid the police force in their attempt to control the crowd. Order these people away, alert them to the danger of this situation, whatever it takes. There shall be no more human causalities due to our war."

"You got it, Prime!" Jazz crowed, flashing him a thumbs-up before transforming quickly into his sleek, silver alternate mode. With a shriek of his tires, he was off, slowly yet steadily creating a circle of protection, one that kept that motionless robot at its center and the crowd around its growing edge.

"A'right, a'right, get outta here, ya silly humans!" he called above the steady roar of his engine. "Nothin' goin' on, not here, no sir, but if there is, be slagged if I get stuck cleanin' up yo' gross organic mess when you get stomped on by some big ol' robo-zombie! Hell no!"

Bumblebee, meanwhile, skittered off in the opposite direction, his door-wings twitching with curiosity as he approached the shifting group of onlookers. Unlike Jazz, he stuck to his robotic form, poking and prodding the grumbling spectators away and occasionally sneaking a wave or a single-fingered high-five to some of his younger fans.

The scattered policemen and soldiers seemed to gain confidence from the unexpected help, for within moments, the mass of people had receded beyond the sidewalk's curb, and many had begun to wander back to whatever path they had originally been on, whether it was one that led to a school, an apartment complex, or an office building. It was as though they were being shaken from some sort of trance, finally realizing the potential danger of an interesting situation that had seemed rather harmless at first.

Optimus Prime, after giving a glance over his shoulder to make sure that the crowd was slowly trickling out of harm's way, paid no further attention to anything, or anyone, besides the motionless All-Sparked creation sitting slumped before him like some sort of gigantic, dejected child's toy. Even though he was close enough to reach out and touch it, it still refused to acknowledge his presence; its optics, their glow a sick, unnatural yellow, appeared to stare at the empty sky above his head rather than at him.

He shuddered. It was...well, it was just the way he imagined "some big ol' robo-zombie" would act. Ever since he had heard Jazz utter the odd term, he couldn't rid himself of it. It fit too perfectly, what with the creature's having only half of a spark: _zombie_.

Bending slowly and steadily to his knees, Optimus Prime leaned toward the being, his optics narrowed, bright, as he inspected it closely. There were no symbols, Autobot or Decepticon, imprinted anywhere on its ruined armor. This was something that was to be expected, as it had been created by Thomas Duke, who was not a Cybertronian nor alleged with either side. Thomas had openly despised the Autobots ever since he had been denied their aid in the advancement of human war technology, but he had not allied himself with the Decepticons.

_As far as you know,_ a nagging, tittering voice snickered at the very back of his processor. He waved the idea away, knowing very well that obsessing over it would do him no good. If Thomas had become a Decepticon pet, there was nothing that could be done about it, not now.

Pressing a hand against the ground to steady himself before standing, Optimus took one last, long look at the creature's optics, dim and empty. They were still focused on the patch of cloudless sky above. It had not moved an inch.

He let out a soft sigh and, in a single, sweeping movement, pushed gracefully to his feet; the wind he created nearly blew the thick, green helmet from an approaching soldier's head, and the young man clasped it down before it could tumble away, blinking his eyes as the unexpected gust ruffled the fringes of his jacket and a few stray locks of his hair. "W-woah!"

Optimus Prime glanced down at him in surprise. _Wait a minute._

"...You are the soldier I spoke to earlier?" he asked on a whim.

The man at his feet beamed, pleased that he had been remembered despite the fact that it had been due to his nervous stutter. "Yup!" he replied enthusiastically. "Name's Grayson, sir! The information I gave you help at all, or no?"

"Yes, it did. Thank you. However..." He looked over his shoulder, once, quickly; for a second, he thought that the creature had moved. "...It appears as though this being is not truly alive. It cannot seem to move or act on its own, so it is not much of a threat. The action that must be taken now would be to - "

_BOOM._

Below him, Grayson's jade eyes widened, his cheeks pale but for two bright blotches of red. Bumblebee let out an elongated yelp, _"Optimus, no!"_; Jazz's tires squealed in protest as he swerved toward him, a stream of curse words, both Cybertronian and human, issuing from his open windows. What remained of the crowd began to scream and scatter; soldiers and policemen alike ran toward him, drawing their handguns as their trembling lips mouthed silent warnings.

It was Grayson, however, who shot the first barrage of bullets.

_"Optimus Prime, look out!"_ Grayson screamed hoarsely, hefting the gun strapped across his chest to his shoulder, the tip of his finger already pressed against the trigger. The small distraction of otherwise-harmless bullets raining upon its face was what stopped the half-sparked being in its tracks, a single second before its thick hulk of a forearm would have slammed into Optimus's shoulder, most likely detaching his arm from his body.

The creature let out a high-pitched, strained whistle, heavy streams of steam issuing from its mouth guard as it tumbled backward, collapsing to the street and shattering the smooth pavement beneath its enormous weight. Its fingers continued to scrape clumsily, stupidly, against its face despite the fact that Grayson had dropped his weapon as soon as the creature had hit the ground.

"O-optimus! O-optimus P-prime, are you a-all r-right?" Grayson cried, his eyes wide and frightened, his hands trembling as he struggled to get a firm grip on his fallen gun. It was easy to tell how jarred and out-of-element the young man was; he hadn't been expecting the motionless robot to act out, and he _certainly _hadn't been expecting to be the one who would stop it. The distant screaming of escaping pedestrians and the shouted orders of his own comrades seemed to be joggling him even more.

"I'm fine, boy, but only because of you," Optimus replied, his facial plate sliding into place. That was a lie. He _wasn't _fine. That had been too close, and everyone knew it, himself included. His spark was throbbing painfully, uneasily, in its chamber, the equivalent of a human heart beating in unexpected surprise. "That was quick thinking, but your weaponry will not wound him."_ I am not even sure if my own will. _"You must pull back! All of you!" he called above Grayon's head; approaching soldiers and policemen gradually skittered to a stop, their eyes locked on him. "Pull back! Now!"

He could see it on their faces: the last thing these men wanted to do was pull back, abandoning him, Jazz, and Bumblebee, leaving them to fight this thing on their own. It was desertion, cowardly, to hide behind stalled cars and crouch in storefronts, watching the battle unfold from its sidelines. But they did not have the proper technology nor the proper armor to protect themselves.

_And there shall be no more human causalities due to our war,_ he repeated silently. _Not if I can help it._

"Pull _back_!" he roared again, slamming one fisted hand against the ground for emphasis, sending Grayson tumbling to the broken street in a flash of cameo. On his left side, Bumblebee leaped atop the fallen robot, who had finally understood that it was no longer being shot at, and on his right, Jazz was doing the same. Before they even wrapped their fingers around the half-spark's arms, however, it let out another ear-piercing shriek and blocked the attacking Autobots with its shoulders, knocking them away as easily as if they had been mere sparklings. It was at this that comprehension and wariness dawned within each soldier's eyes, and finally, they turned around and retreated, calling the order down the street to whoever hadn't heard. As they escaped around corners to other blocks or into apartment buildings, they dragged frightened civilians along with them, clearing the streets of potential victims.

"Grayson!" Optimus Prime gasped, turning to face the rusted robot as it pushed unsteadily to its feet. On either side of its hulking mass, Bumblebee and Jazz lay, struggling to regain themselves. It paid them no attention, however. Its ugly, yellow optics were focused on only the Autobot leader. "Grayson, run!"

"B-but - "

"Listen to me!" Optimus interrupted in a snarl. He gave the soldier a quick, dangerous glare before reverting his gaze back to the half-spark. "If I tell you to run, you _will _run! Now go!"

"Y-yes s-sir!" Grayson shouted in surrender, scrapping his way along the cracked pavement. Mid-crawl, he abandoned his heavy weapon and scrambled up to the sidewalk, ducking into a nearby brick building when he was close enough. The hands of civilians and his fellow soldiers alike were waiting for him, grasping the ends of his cameo coat and yanking him through the open doorway to safety. Only when Optimus Prime could no longer see the young man did he return his full attention to the half-spark weaving drunkenly toward him, its curled hand raised above its helmeted head.

It moved slowly and clumsily, but it hit hard, using its thick body as the brute force behind its attack. Even though he had plenty of time to shield himself from the creature's big fist, Optimus Prime groaned beneath the incredible power of its punch, his optics shuttering as the shock of the attack dispersed through his body from the point of impact against his crossed forearms. The half-spark didn't appear to suffer from the block it had received, merely swinging its free arm toward him like a gargantuan baseball bat. Rather than feel the after-effects of a second blow, Optimus ducked, watching as the half-spark was tilted off-balance when its flailing limb didn't hit its implied target.

Using the opportunity given, the Autobot leader slid his sword from where it was tucked against his arm plating and thrust it upward, its point slicing into the protective armor of the creature's chassis. The half-spark's strained whistle of surprise, pain, and anger intermingled with the ear-piercing shriek of metal grinding metal; Optimus winced at the horrendous sounds, distracted by the ugly way they grated against one another. This was followed closely by a roar of bewilderment as the half-spark's sharp knuckles ground past his mouth guard, scraping it away and cutting into his face. Even as it wound up to lunge at him, he could feel the energon seeping, throbbing, through the jagged scrape, dribbling down his chin.

Before the locomoticon could strike again, however, it was diverted by Jazz, who had finally managed to get to his feet. The small second-in-command hooked himself onto its back, and because he didn't have time to whip out anything else, he resorted to using his clawed fingertips to rip at the creature's facial plate, its optics, its spark-chamber, anything that would open the way to a bigger and better attack. His plan was working; deep gouges appeared all over its rusted armor, wherever Jazz managed to scratch at it. However, it caught the silver Autobot by surprise, gripping his ankle and ripping him from its back. It then began to spin him around like an over-sized flail; Optimus Prime was barely able to stumble away soon enough, landing hard on his backside, so that his own soldier wouldn't hit him. Bumblebee, however, was just shaking himself loose of a few broken pieces of pavement when Jazz smacked into him. The two became entangled in each other's limbs, their chests and heads slamming against one another's with a painful squeal of grinding metal.

Dropping its two tiny Autobot victims to the shattered sidewalk, the half-spark once again turned toward Optimus Prime, its shadow stretching across the fallen leader's sprawled body as it approached. His features contorted with anger, Optimus desperately attempted to find purchase beneath him, enough so that he could pull away, enough so that he could fight back. The broken, shifting ground, however, slipped and slid beneath his grasping hands and scrambling feet. Realizing that he was stuck where he was for the time being, he drew his sword protectively against his chest, and waited.

Surprisingly, the half-spark didn't lunge at him as it had during its previous attacks. It raised one heavy arm to its head, but it didn't swipe at him, not yet. Instead, it stared at him for a moment, its head cocked to one side, its wide, weak, yellow optics locked on his own.

"R-rem-re-rember the n-nam-ee of-f-f-zz...t-the b-being w-w-hoo conqu-qured y-you, _C-Cybertron-niaaaaan_," he rasped in a struggling voice of steam and heat, taking an off-balanced step toward him. "_Diesel_."

Optimus Prime merely glared at him, his own optics narrowed to thin, bright slits. "You do not _deserve _to _exist_!" he snarled, slashing out at him. The tip of his sword brushed his ruined chassis. "I refuse to remember the name of any forsaken creature that does not _deserve _to _exist_!"

Letting out a screaming, ringing whistle of animalistic fury, Diesel finally charged at him, tripping over his own feet and sprawling across Optimus's fallen body. His tumble didn't stop him, however, from whipping his arm down, toward the Autobot's exposed face.

The sound of a transformation, the shifting, grinding squeal of gears, erupted from a short distance away; barely a second later, a flash of green and silver shot between Optimus Prime and Diesel's descending arm. Another second passed, and the enormous weight of the half-spark left his torso, his body free of its bulk. A scream of a train whistle and the pattering of a Cybertonian machine-gun followed this, the sound of ricocheting bullets and desperate scrambles ringing in the air.

Tucking his arms behind him and hefting himself up into sitting position, Optimus Prime watched in shock as Diesel, his hands held defensively out in front of him, stumbled clumsily away as he attempted to escape the painful bullet barrage. Unable to withstand the surprise attack, he transformed mid-stumble, molding into the ancient form of a steam train. Then, bullying and crashing his way through the abandoned cars that lined the pavement, he turned the corner of the street that deposited into the desert after a few sharp turns, and disappeared.

He escaped from view so quickly that chasing after him, especially in their current condition, was both impossible and absolutely useless, and in the distance, already five or so blocks away, perhaps even from Mission City's outskirts, Optimus Prime heard the unmistakable whistle that belonged to the half-spark.

It was enraged, closely edging the powerful, hungry roar it had had in its glory days, decades ago.

_He will be back,_ he thought disjointedly. _We will see him again soon enough._

With that, Optimus blinked once, slowly, and turned to face the one who had saved his spark.

Standing crouched amongst the rubble a few yards away was a short, stocky, green robot, a machine-gun tucked defensively against his chassis. He was staring at Optimus Prime with bright, incredulous optics, as though he couldn't believe what was happening, who he was seeing.

_Blue,_ bright, incredulous optics; an Autobot, and if his guess was correct, one he knew well. _Primus...Is it...is it _really_...?_

The Autobot leader watched in utter disbelief as the Cybertronian approached him cautiously, taking one careful step at a time. When he finally reached him, he held out a tentative hand.

Grasping the scout's wrist and, with his help, hefting himself to his feet, Optimus Prime gripped his shoulders companionably, giving the soldier a smile that was a little bloody, but true.

"Hound."


	30. Chapter XXX

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXX_

For what she counted as the fifteenth time in the past ten minutes, he traced the lines and swirls of her fingers, her palm, each and every identifying pattern, as though attempting to remember the minuscule, complicated details of the map of her hand. She didn't understand the purpose of his soft touches and had even attempted to pull away at first; it tickled. Now, however, his small fingertips felt nice against her skin, a cool, flawless counterpart to her own excruciating heat, a heat that radiated itself from her All-Sparked body as though she was a small sun.

Antonia stroked the thick, rounded slope of Telebot's helm with her free hand, watching as he glanced away from his odd actions and, his small digits tightening around her own, "smiled" at her in that way he had, his bright, green optics curving into half-moons of pleasure. She was sure that, although she couldn't see it beneath his slab of protective plating, his mouth was smiling too, and the thought of it made her lips twitch into a responding smirk.

For the first time since she had jokingly termed Telebot her "baby", she felt, _truly_ felt, like his mother, and despite how odd it sounded, she was beginning to fit the description.

Even if she had not been acting like much of a parent during the past few days, Telebot certainly viewed her as one: he was, more often than not, wrapped around her like a clinging vine, attaching his chubby body to her arm, her leg, her waist, her neck. She had awoken to find him pressed as close to her as he could come, his head resting comfortably against her bandaged chest; with each breath she took, he moved with her, never once waking from his rest. She could feel, through the physical barriers that separated them, her heart beating in time to his small flame of a spark, an unexpected lullaby they had both fallen asleep to.

Perhaps the most convincing evidence she had of Telebot's childlike adoration was Mikaela's quiet recount of what had happened the night before, how he had responded to her question of protecting Antonia. _"If that isn't love..."_ she had said. _"I don't know what is."_

Antonia let out an internal moan, fighting to keep a straight face for her mechanical companion. The idea that this tiny creature she had created out of pure desperation loved her as a baby would its mother was both extremely frightening and incredibly sweet. Sweet for obvious reasons, but frightening because, even if she tried, she didn't know how she could possibly live up to the role.

Before the question could fade from her mind, the All Spark answered it.

She was suddenly recounting the memory of Mikaela, only an hour or so before, shaking her awake. The way Mikaela had stared at the small Cybertronian wrapped in Antonia's arms had caused her to ask what was wrong.

_"Nothing's wrong,"_ Mikaela had replied, leaning over to stroke Telebot's smooth back. _"I was just thinking how lucky you are to have someone like him around. I know it must suck, being infected with the All Spark, but if there's any positive result of the pain it's caused you, it's him. He loves you a lot."_ When she looked up at her, met her eyes with her own steady gaze, Antonia couldn't look away. _"He was actually _upset_ over the fact that he couldn't protect you or be with you while you were sleeping and dreaming last night. If that isn't love...I don't know what is."_

The All Spark's genderless voice spoke, its words echoing through the shared expanse of her mind with a reassurance that was uncharacteristic. _The fact that you even try to reciprocate the sparkling's love is more than it requires of you, Antonia_, it said, as though it was stating a simple fact, one she should have already known. _Even if you do not believe that you can live up to the role as his mother, _he_ certainly believes that you can._

_Then...that should be enough. Right?_ This time, it did not reply.

Sighing softly, Antonia carefully clasped Telebot's small head between her hands and pulled him toward her, planting a quick kiss on the front of his helm. Delightfully surprised by the unexpected smooch, Telebot turned to face her, and let out an elongated "Ooooohhhh!" when she pressed another kiss against the tip of his nose.

"Best friends, _roboito_?" she murmured half-heartedly, not quite ready to call the small, compact transformer her child yet; perhaps she never would be.

Telebot, however, didn't seem to mind _what_ she called him. As he leaned his forehead against Antonia's, the screen that was his stout, square stomach turned on, revealing a scene from an old black-and-white film that depicted a young man in a bowler hat, his arm around the waist of a pretty girl. They were staring into each other's eyes with a passion that was nearly blinding in its intensity, so visible despite the lack of color.

"It's you and me against the world, baby!" the young man cried.

Her smile grew a few reluctant inches wider. _Sometimes it certainly feels that way,_ she thought, curling herself around Telebot in the same way he so often did with her, needing to feel the sweet warmth of another soul, one that was connected to hers more than any other, one that fit so perfectly when placed beside her own.

Pressing her thin cheek against his warm chassis, the ghost of a smile still on her lips, she began to cry.

There was no loud sobbing, no gasping bawls that wracked the shoulders of her small body, no screams of torment or desolate cries. The tears merely slipped, one by one, down the rises and falls of her face, etching translucent pathways across her bronzed skin.

She cried because, despite the fact that she had all the protection she needed, the comfort of a mother who loved her above all else and friends who did as well, two guardians to call her own when the others had but one...She was still, somehow, incredibly alone. Even Telebot, the closest to her both literally and figuratively, did not experience nightmares in which he was in someone else's shoes, someone who was in great pain. He didn't dream of voices and faces he did not know, of thoughts that were not his own, of memories he wished to forget instead of remember. He didn't have a ghost of something everyone thought had died trapped in his mind, leeching the energy from him and leaving a physical ache in its place, communicating with him in details he did not fully understand.

No one did, no one but her.

In some ways, she and Telebot were a team of two, facing the world together. In other ways, she faced the world and whatever teeth it had hiding beneath its surface on her own.

Telebot watched her in silence for a moment. To an extent, he understood what his mother was experiencing. He knew that wherever she went when she was asleep was more often than not a scary place to be, and if he was able to follow her or take her place, he would have done so without a second thought. But because she did not speak of what troubled her, he did not know for sure what it was or what he could do that would help her. Because he could not speak himself, he couldn't ask what went on inside of her head. He could only reach out and reassure her with the options he had been given, and hope that it was enough.

With his short arms cradling her head against his squat chest, Telebot held her, brushing his fingers through the ragged ends of her raven hair. Using the pad of his thumb, he rubbed out the droplets that came to rest at the sharp line of her jaw, smearing them out of existence.

_"Don't cry, my heart..."_ a soft voice crooned from his small speakers. _"Be still, sweet heart..."_

The All Spark, a monotonous third party, watched them with a pair of eyes reflected in her own, two soft, flaring balls of white plasma that reminded Antonia of stars laid out against the black backdrop of sky that was the inside of her head, her mind.

_Suffer little children,_ it stated quietly.

Its odd words echoing always with a deeper meaning than it allowed her to understand, Antonia decided that it would be best, perhaps, if she told the Autobots about this.

About her ability to speak to the All Spark.

* * *

"There you are, Mr. Rone."

Ratchet, his optics narrowed to bright, thin slits, carefully fixed the rims of Zachary's glasses over the ridge of his freckle-spattered nose. Dropping his hands away, the Autobot medic observed the young man as he blinked, his eyes magnified behind the clear lenses.

"Well?" Ratchet questioned. His response was in the form of the gradual smile that spread across Zach's face as he glanced around the medical bay, relishing in being able to spot small details once again.

"Perfect!" he exclaimed, turning to face his guardian, who looked both humble and pleased. "I can see better than before, even! How did you do it?"

"Heesh a giant wobo'ic 'octor, 'Ach," Tyler interrupted, a thick river of pancake syrup dribbling down his chin. "He can pwobably fix anyfink."

Zach raised an eyebrow as he observed Tyler with slight disgust, wincing as the older boy slurped up the runaway syrup with the tip of his tongue before tackling another pancake. "You're a pig," he stated blandly, hopping down from the berth's edge and approaching the group that had formed a loose circle on the cool, metal floor, Ratchet trailing after him.

For the past hour, after an attempt at an explanation (which was full of holes that neither Pilar nor Ratchet could fill) and the questions that followed (most of which neither Pilar nor Ratchet could answer) Antonia's mother had delved into a cooking frenzy, a beneficial distraction that she seemed to need very much and one that the children needed just as much, perhaps more.

Fortunately, the bedrooms were not the only humanized sections of the base: there was a kitchen and a bathroom as well. The latter had been in near-constant use as shower after shower was taken. Each shower was followed by a check-up, cleaning of wounds, re-wrapping of bandages, and finally, changes into clean clothes. Pilar had packed each and every one of her and her daughter's personal belongings, clothes included. Sam and Mikaela still had plenty of clothing stashed away in their base bedrooms. Zach and Tyler, however, had nothing with them but the clothes on their backs. A pair of soldiers had had to go to each of their homes, had to ask their parents to pack their son's belongings, and then had to haul said belongings back to the base. They had returned only ten minutes before. Up until their return, Zach and Tyler had been forced to wear nothing but towels tied around their waists. Tyler did not mind this; Zachary did, choosing to stay in the room he shared with Sam and Tyler, locking the airtight door behind him. Tyler, however, had no shame, eating just as much wrapped in nothing but a towel as he would if he had been fully dressed. Pilar actually had to coax him back into his clothes, and it was only Ratchet's agitated threatening that finally made up Tyler's mind completely.

Tyler, fully dressed, his wheelchair folded into a pile of silver piping behind him, sat between Sam and Mikaela, both of whom were watching the muscled linebacker chomp his way through his third serving with a mixture of fascination and, like Zach, disgust. Pilar sat across from Tyler, her chin resting in her hand. She bit her bottom lip as she desperately attempted to keep from giggling.

"And I worried that I had cooked too much," she said loftily, managing to keep a relatively straight face. "I forgot that I was cooking for teenage boys."

Ironhide grunted from where he stood, leaning against the farthest wall. It was the first indication he had given that he was even listening to the conversation he had willingly excluded himself from, choosing to sit in steaming silence after learning that he had been left on baby-sitting duty. Now, however, he shook his enormous head in disbelief, his optics locked on Tyler. "It's as though he has a black hole for a stomach..." he rumbled.

Tyler swallowed, gasping as a huge lump of pancake pushed its way down his throat. "Is that admiration I hear?" he teased, licking the tongs of his fork.

The weapon's specialist let out a snort. "You wish it was, kid."

Ratchet pinched the soft place between his optics and let out a soft sigh. "I do not think I can bear to watch this any longer. It's repulsing," he muttered, turning away from Tyler and making his way back to the medical berth being used specifically for human check-ups.

"Can someone go and retrieve Antonia for me?" he asked, successfully rerouting the conversation. "She's the only one I have not seen yet this morning."

Pilar pushed herself to her feet, looking oddly alert at the mention of her daughter, as though she had been caught daydreaming when her mind should have been focused on more important things.

"Of course. I'll - " Her sentence ended abruptly as Antonia made her way into the medical bay, Telebot curled against her chest, his head tucked lovingly beneath her chin. Only Pilar was close enough to see the soft, red rims around Antonia's eyes; Ratchet and Ironhide, both equipped with vision better than any human being's, saw as well, even from the longer distances. Ratchet stiffened upon seeing her, immediately scanning the young girl for any physical ailment that might have caused her to cry. Ironhide, however, merely narrowed his optics and started to walk toward her, his thick arms crossed over his chassis.

"There's the lady of the hour!" Tyler whooped obliviously, giving Antonia a smile. When it was not returned, the grin faded from his lips, replaced with a troubled frown. He turned to face Sam, Mikaela, and Zach, wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve, his expression unexpectedly serious. "What do you think's the matter?"

"I don't know," Zach replied slowly, his eyes following Ironhide as the stout mech approached the berth where Antonia, Pilar close at her heels, had gone to meet Ratchet. He watched as his guardian cupped Antonia carefully in his gargantuan hands and set her on the berth's edge, his mouth forming words that Zach could not hear or understand from where he sat.

Tyler blinked at Zach's empty answer, then ran his fingers through his wet hair nervously before glancing at Sam and Mikaela, both of whom were staring at the small group that had formed around the berth.

"Hey Sam, help me up?" he asked. "I wanna go check out what's happening."

"Good idea," he murmured in response, absently helping Tyler to first unfold his wheelchair, and then to get him into it. Mikaela and Zachary had already begun to walk toward the berth, and Sam and Tyler soon followed, the wheelchair's insistent squeak for once the farthest thing from their minds.

_Don't do it,_ the All Spark said, its voice resounding and loud, a bass at the very back of her mind. It sounded as though it didn't care much, one way or the other. As though it knew better, knew something she didn't. _Don't tell them. They won't understand, Antonia._

_Screw you, _she replied vehemently. _Of course they'll understand. They _know _about you._

The All Spark let out an amused "Huh", and fell silent.

"It's been talking to me."

Ratchet, Pilar, and Ironhide did a double-take, their expressions almost comical, would've been if the circumstances were different. "What?" they asked simultaneously, bright optics and dark eyes widening with surprise, confusion and...something else. Something deeper, something worried.

It was then that Antonia understood the words that the All Spark had spoken: _They won't understand, Antonia._

No, they didn't understand. _They didn't believe her._

_I _told_ you,_ the All Spark said in a mocking, sing-song tone. _But what does the strange alien life force know? Nothing, apparently._

Even as she edged away from the three uncomprehending faces that crowded her vision, her lips trembling with the backlash of her mistake, the mistake she had made of divulging her odd secret with a trust she had thought the Autobots and her mother had earned, Sam let out a cry that caused their heads to wheel, their gazes and attention diverted.

"They're back!" he squawked, giving a little hop as he nearly tripped over Tyler's wheelchair in his effort to see the returning Autobots gradually making their way down the gargantuan hall. "Optimus and the others are back!"

His yelps, however, was lost in the happy whooping of Bumblebee and Jazz.

"Ratch'! Yo, Ratchet, you ain't gonna believe this, man, not for a second! "  
"Guess who found us! Guess who helped us! Guess who, guess who, _guess who_!"

Ironhide growled, stomping towards the med bay's entrance and thrusting his head, irritated, grumpy expression and all, against Bumblebee's bright one.

"What are you screaming about?" he snapped. "Just tell us who...who..."

His optics widened into perfect circles as Bumblebee directed his gaze to the shadowed figure standing behind him.

_...Primus._

The silver and green Autobot shifted on its feet, its head cocked with curiosity. "Iron...hide?" a voice, scratchy and hoarse in its attempt to speak the new language, questioned.

"Hound," the weapon's specialist replied, his voice soft with surprise. Optimus Prime's words rang in his head, loud and confident: _We are here, we are waiting._

"Hound...Primus, I cannot believe that...that..." _Someone found their way home._


	31. Chapter XXXI

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXI_

Ratchet had given her a quick check-up, poking and prodding without the depth he might have acted with in another situation. He was nervous and frenzied, which was perfectly understandable; she'd thought he'd blow a circuit when he'd seen the deep, bleeding gouge in Optimus Prime's cheek, the way Jazz's and Bumblebee's chests and heads were dented from their collisions into each other, the scratches that all three sported like tattoos. Because of all of this, and because of the discovery of another Autobot (something that _had_ attracted her attention), she dismissed his hurried diagnoses of her overall well-being. There was nothing physically wrong with her, anyway. Not at the moment. It was all in her head.

Just when she thought that Ratchet was through with her, he'd cupped her chin between two fingertips and stared at her with such meaningful intensity that she'd blinked. "We will talk about it later," he'd said, just low enough for her to hear. She knew exactly what he meant, and the last thing she wanted to do after his original reaction was mention it again. But what Ratchet had said was not a question. It was an order.

She'd lowered her eyes and nodded, and after holding her head for another prolonged moment, he let his hand drop away.

She'd wandered away after being ushered out of the medical bay by the frantic medic along with her mother, Zach, Tyler, Sam and Mikaela, not because he didn't want to see or talk to them but because he was worried that the human charges would be crushed beneath some gigantic, flailing, robotic limb. Only William Lennox and Reggie Simmons had been allowed in, though the way their faces had paled upon hearing of another Autobot arrival hinted to Antonia that their conversation with the earth-bound aliens would spiral into something much more, especially once the government caught wind of it.

The others had divided into two groups: Sam, Tyler, and Zachary in one, and she, Pilar and Mikaela in the other, each group sitting on either side of the hallway outside of the med bay's closed entrance, determined to hear the what was going on inside.

When her mother saw her making her way down the hallway, alone but for Telebot, she started to go after her, only to be stopped when Antonia had requested that she had a bit of time to herself. She'd watched her mother's expression change from concerned to deeply worried, from that worry to pained, loving. In the end, Pilar had nodded once and sat back down, slowly, beside Mikaela.

Antonia felt her mother's dark eyes locked on her back, even as she'd turned the corner and disappeared down the next hallway.

She hadn't gone very far. She wasn't particularly curious about what lay behind the base's closed doors, and was convinced that most of said doors were locked or closed for a reason. However, there was one she came across that caught her attention. Not only was it open, but its frame was arched at the top, revealing a ceiling that was arched as well, rounded, enormous, like a globe. She exchanged a glance with Telebot, who shrugged as if to say _Hey, what the heck?_ before slipping inside.

What the odd room housed stunned her.

The walls and ceiling were completely covered with a map of what appeared to be the entire galaxy, constantly rotating at a careful pace: stars, moons, planets. The stars actually flickered, tiny, bright, perfect diamonds; the planets and moons not only rotated around her but on their axises as well, spinning to their own times. Certain places were labeled in a strange language that she did not understand but what reminded her of a twisted version of cuneiform, the alien text glittering against the map of the universe just as everything else did.

In the very center of the room was a circular device, a clear half globe placed atop of a cylinder of metal bolted to the floor. As she approached it, she could see that it was some sort of projector, one that cast the enormous map, but not her own nor Telebot's shadow, against the room's barriers. It was as though it could shine right through them. It was as though they didn't exist.

_"Oh, it's beautiful tonight, darling," _a woman's soft, awed voice whispered from Telebot's speakers, undoubtedly a quote from a movie. _"It's just beautiful."_

Antonia smiled a real smile, her teeth flashing against the perpetual darkness that the room provided. Her fingers reached out for him, and Telebot's met them, curling through her own protectively. "You're right," she breathed, her head upturned, her eyes reflecting the stars. "It's..._Wow_."

"Yeah, I guess it is, ain't it?"

Both she and Telebot jerked with surprise, wheeling toward the open door where a short, slim, unexpected silhouette stood. His silver paint job flickered in the dim light of the hallway as he stared at her.

Jazz.

Antonia raised her chin haughtily, feeling defensive at the unexpected intrusion despite the fact that she had no right to be in the room in the first place. "You guess?" she asked loftily, turning away from her guardian and bringing her gaze back up to the projected galaxy swirling around her. "What do you mean, you guess? It_ is _beautiful."

The floor rumbled beneath her as Jazz, taking slow, careful steps, approached her. She felt Telebot's fingers squeeze her own tighter in his grip before he let go to stand between her legs as Jazz finally reached her side, his hands on his hips.

"Well, s'pose you've been through it as many times as I have," he said quietly. "S'pose you've lost friends, even yourself, in it too many times to count. 'Specially when you thought you knew the place like the back of your hand." She watched him, her eyes locked on his visored face as he lowered himself to a sitting position. "At one time, the universe was pretty _Wow _for me too. Now..." He shrugged, chuckled lightly. "Now, I think it's a little too big."

Because she didn't know how to respond to this, she too folded into a sitting position, hauling Telebot into her lap and resting her chin on his head, silent and thoughtful.

From where she sat, she could feel his gaze on her. "Y'know," he said, after a moment of silence and observation. "You got some of your own stars."

Antonia scoffed at this, her eyebrows narrowing. "They are not nearly as pretty," she mumbled, holding her glowing arms outstretched in front her. The tips of Jazz's fingers reached out, tentatively resting against her left arm, touching the shards embedded in her skin.

"I don't think so," he replied. "If anythin', they're prettier."

She turned to face him, her eyes indistinguishable against the dark hollows of her face. "The stars in the sky are prettier because they're not close enough to burn," she said in a clipped, trembling tone. "These ones _are_."

_How morbidly poetic,_ the All Spark stated absently. For once, she decided to ignore it.

Jazz jerked away upon hearing her harsh comment as though _he_ had been burned, and Antonia felt a stab of self-resentment slice into her heart. _He was just trying to be nice to you,_ an inner voice, not that of the All Spark's, snapped irritably. _Not like you deserve it. Bitch._

Before she could even begin to form an apology in her head, however, Jazz edged closer.

"Talk to me, kid," he said softly. "Please. I want to help you, but I can't if you won't talk to me. Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Antonia blinked, then stared at her arms once again, trying to take what he'd asked into consideration, watching as the All Spark shards flickered on, flickered off. How was she supposed to explain how alone she was despite the fact that she was surrounded by people who were ready and willing to protect her, who loved her enough to place their own lives on the line? Or how crowded her mind felt, shared with an unwelcome guest? How could she describe the voices she heard, the memories she witnessed that did not belong to her, without sounding like a raving lunatic? And her anger, uncontrollable, wounding her and those around her, a match constantly ready to strike? How to mention _that_ to him?

She didn't even know how to begin, and finally, she decided on the one description that summed it all up effectively.

"I'm a freak," she whispered. Her vision swam; Telebot became blurry, as did the innumerable stars and planets surrounding her, but she held the tears at bay, determined not to fall prey to them yet again.

When Jazz replied, his voice had hardened considerably. "No, you're not."

"I am, I'm a - "

"No, you're not!" he snapped, snagging her chin and forcing her to look at him, at the deep frown set in his intricate face. Telebot let out a low growl, but Jazz didn't spare him a second glance. "You're unique, Antonia. Not a freak."

"What's the difference between them?" she cried out, pulling away from him. "What's the difference, huh?"

His hands dropped away, fisted at his sides as he desperately tried to find that difference. Met with his scrambling silence, Antonia laughed darkly.

"There _is_ no difference," she stated shakily. "I _am_ a freak."

A few, uncomfortable seconds of silence passed as the word hung in the air, a cloud of poison gas: _Freak._

"If you're a freak," he finally, stiffly, replied, "then I am too."

"Oh?" Antonia countered. She tried to keep the curiosity out of her tone without much success. "How's that?"

Her eyes were drawn to a movement near his chassis; it was his hand, pressing itself against his abdomen, just above the line of his torso. As he gradually let it fall away, she blinked at what she had somehow missed: a deep, jagged, messy stitch, black and bumpy, that circled his slim body like a lasso.

"I was the only one who saw the light at the end of the tunnel, wandered 'round in it for a bit, and came back," he said. "I'm as closes to the livin' dead as they come. By all means, I shouldn't be here right now, but I am." He looked away, his visor glinting in the shine cast by the simulated stars. "If that don't make me a freak, I dunno what does."

Slowly reaching over Telebot's head, Antonia leaned forward and brushed her fingers along the line of the scar. Her eyes were wide, their highlights bright.

"What was it like?" she whispered. The anger and desolation had deserted her, were replaced with a quiet understanding.

She didn't feel the way he trembled involuntarily beneath her touch, the heat that emitted from his spark as it roared in his chassis. _Please..._

"Like sleepin'," he managed. Her expression lit with something ranging between surprise and acceptance at his response, and as she dropped her hand away, turning to stare at the star-speckled sky around her, something inside of him simultaneously wept with relief and screamed with desire.

His gaze found her outline against the darkness, traced every curve of her silhouette.

"Just like sleepin'."

* * *

She didn't know how long they sat together back-to-back beneath the artificial starlight; so long, in fact, that Telebot fell into stasis rest within the circle of her arms, unaffected by the constant flicker of the All Spark shards or the overwhelming silence of the projection room.

She didn't understand why he had left what appeared to be extremely important meeting, or how he had found her so quickly, especially when there were so many other wings and branches, other rooms, of the Autobot base to choose from. Despite all of this, however, she didn't question him and she wouldn't question him. The answers to these questions were so trivial, so insignificant; they didn't matter in the slightest. What did matter was that, when she had needed someone to talk to, someone who would listen, like a magnet that had pinpointed its polar opposite, he had sought her out with a speed that was almost desperate. He had come to her. It was almost as though she and her guardian shared a wavelength, a connection that, for the moment, eluded the other Autobots and their charges. Perhaps it always would.

She was incredibly grateful that Jazz was sitting close enough to reach out and touch, that he was ready and willing to listen to what she had to say, was waiting for her, in fact, to tell him exactly what was wrong. The only problem was that she couldn't seem to force the thoughts, doubts, and worries that were mass-accumulating in her head into an explanation that he could believe. The memory of the shocked expressions that had appeared on Ratchet's, Ironhide's, and her own mother's faces when she had first spilled her dirty little secret shoved its way into her thoughts every time she gathered the courage to open her mouth, successfully silencing her before she could begin a single sentence.

She and Jazz shared a wavelength, perhaps, but that didn't mean that she could predict his reactions. Or whether or not he would believe what she was going to tell him at all, which was what frightened her more than anything else; that her own guardian would dismiss the All Spark communicating with her as a sign of some increasing insanity brought on by its presence. That, more so than anything else, was forcing her to keep her silence. The idea that Jazz wouldn't, _couldn't_, believe her.

If only she had indisputable information, something that the All Spark had told her but also something that only the Autobots, not any human being, would know about. As far as she knew, however, there was nothing that -

_Indisputable information._

Antonia let out a soft gasp, her eyes widening. It was so unexpectedly, painfully clear to her what "indisputable information" she had at her disposal...

With its sudden discovery, the All Spark's voice resounded within their shared mind. _Ah!_ It cried, its tone tinged with ironic approval. _I knew it would come to you eventually, Sparkchild!_

Antonia finally found her voice.

"Jazz," she said, turning around to face her guardian. The Autobot did the same, his optical visor blue and bright against the darkness, his hidden eyes beneath it focused on her face. She could feel their invisible weight.

Her heart quickened in her chest, skittering along at a nervous, aching pace. "The All Spark has been speaking to me."

Jazz inspected her in silence, his body stiff and unyielding as he processed what he had been told. Although his visor was the single brightest light in the room, Antonia couldn't decipher his expression. She didn't know whether or not to be grateful for this.

After a few second's time, he fidgeted uncomfortably, ducking his head to rub it with one enormous hand. "The All Spark's been...talkin' to you," Jazz echoed hollowly, his voice tinged with the very emotions Antonia couldn't bear to hear, the same emotions that had been etched onto the Autobots', her mother's, faces: confusion, disbelief, and, of course, worry, the latter being the most obvious and the one that she despised the most. Worry stemmed from the idea that she was being driven insane by the All Spark and its ominous conversations with her, that she wasn't communicating with it at all, just imagining that she was. She knew, however, that she was not.

It was _not_ her imagination. The All Spark was speaking to her, and it would not leave her alone.

"Yes," Antonia confirmed, her heart still thumping heavily. She was surprised that she couldn't hear it reverberating against Telebot's chassis, it seemed so loud, strong, almost as though it was protesting the fact that her guardian didn't believe her without question. "Yes, it explained to me what has happened to your race. How it's dying out 'cause...you can't...m-mate anymore, create babies, sparklings. Your girls, it called them, uh..." She wracked her brain for a moment before grasping the unfamiliar word like a life saver. "It called them 'femmes'. You...you don't have any femmes left, or so little of them have survived the war that...that it doesn't make much of a difference, not anymore...And..."

She let out a soft sigh, suddenly realizing how personal her "indisputable information" was, how close to the heart, or rather, the spark. But it was what she had pinned the last, tattered remnants of her hope on. She needed it. It was, perhaps, the only thing that would convince Jazz that she was speaking the truth, would convince everyone who doubted her.

_Please believe me._

"It told me that Optimus Prime and Ironhide lost their sparkmates," she whispered. Telebot's tiny digits latched onto her fingers and squeezed, as though he could sense her incredible discomfort even while asleep. "They're dead."

That last, ugly word, _dead_, echoed throughout the enormous projection room before dissipating into the silence that followed. Antonia let her eyes slip closed, the breath that she had obliviously held pent up within her chest, so long that her lungs had begun to ache, leaking from between her lips as though she was a deflating balloon.

It had been said; it was finished, for better or for worse. Either way, she didn't have to see Jazz's reaction, not if she didn't want to. She could be ignorant to it, to everyone, forever; she didn't have to open her eyes. She could force herself into one of the coma-like sleeps that had plagued her ever since the All Spark had taken up residence inside of her body. She could be blind, deaf, and dumb. She could take the traitor's way out of a situation that she had never wanted to be a part of in the first place.

But she _wasn't_ a traitor, she never would be. And no matter what she did or what she wanted, she wasn't going to be able to escape the All Spark. It was a part of her, and could follow her to whatever depths she decided to plunge into as it had already proven time and time again. It would always be there whether she wanted its company or not.

No, she couldn't. She wouldn't.

With that thought in mind, Antonia opened her eyes, expecting the absolute worst: a doubt that she could not break, indisputable information or otherwise.

What she was met with, however, was Jazz, his strange silhouette outlined in starlight. His posture was more relaxed, and the light of his visor was a softer shade of blue, but other than that, he was just as he had been moments before, staring at her with a pair of eyes that she could not meet.

"It told you 'bout Elita?" he asked quietly. "'Bout Chromia?"

_Elita. Chromia,_ Antonia thought distractedly. She was reminded oddly of flowers, beautiful and delicate. _How lovely._

"It didn't use any names," she replied, her arms tightening reflexively around Telebot's square chest. "But, yes. It mentioned them."

Once more she could feel the second in command's gaze on her, the weight of it heavy and suspicious. He stared at her closely, attempting to find a chip in her expression, one that would alert to him that she wasn't telling the truth, that she was pulling his leg, that she had found out about the femme deaths through a source that wasn't the All Spark.

She knew quite well that he would find nothing. She was telling the truth, after all, and because she was, she had absolutely no trouble keeping a straight face, eespecially if it meant that doing so would secure his belief in what she was saying.

When he finally managed to respond, the unexpectedly cold tone of his voice caused her to wince.

"All right...The All Spark's talkin' to you," Jazz stated apathetically, pushing himself to his feet. "Don't know how else you'd know 'bout..._that_. No one here would've told you anythin' 'bout what happened back then, no way. You...you ain't lying."

Antonia's heart skipped a beat before jumping to her throat in what appeared to be an attempt to suffocate her. She couldn't hold back the burning tears that rose to her eyes as she watched Jazz slowly make his way toward the projection room's entrance, leaving her to wallow in the perpetual, murky darkness.

_Where is he going?_ she thought, oblivious to the raw panic that was growing within her chest, spreading like a disease and numbing her as it did so. What had she done, said, that had caused this reaction? She knew that the deaths of Elita and Chromia were touchy, uncomfortable subjects even if she didn't know the Autobots very well just yet, but she also knew, and believed Jazz to know, that mentioning them was the only fool-proof way to prove that the All Spark was communicating with her. _If he understands this...why?_

_Why is he walking away?_

...Had he too lost someone, a sparkmate, during the course of the war? Had she reminded him of who he missed?

_If that's true...I didn't m-mean to..._Pressing the heels of her hands against her leaking eyes as she attempted to hide the tears that were threatening to spill, Antonia peered anxiously from between the prison bars of her small fingers. Jazz was standing in the doorway with his back to her, his arms crossed over his scarred chassis. He had walked away, but he didn't appear to be going anywhere.

"Why are you angry with me?" Antonia called out; what started as an accusing growl died along its way up her throat, diminishing until it was nothing more than a child's whimper. "What did I say?"

Jazz's stiff stance changed so quickly that Antonia blinked with surprise: his broad shoulders slumped, his head bowed, his arms dropped away from where they rested against his chest and instead, he stared down at his enormous, clawed hands, splayed before him. From where she sat she could see his slim body tremble once, a batch of quivering quicksilver.

"Angry at you?" He let out a hoarse laugh that was everything but humored. "Angry...no, not at all."

After a moment of hesitation, her guardian turned and glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression so different from his earlier tone. It was one of pure bereavement, of torment, deep and unrestrained. If she didn't know any better, he looked to be in physical pain.

However, that expression, so telling in its intensity, disappeared, as though he realized just how telling it was. The two antennas that flanked the sides of his helm twitched uncomfortably, and he dropped his gaze once again to his hands, which had since balled into tight fists.

_A secret,_ Antonia thought with sudden surety. _He's keeping a secret from me. But what?_

"Not angry," Jazz repeated softly, his silhouette pointed and alien against the dim light of the hallway. "Just wish it was happenin' to anyone but you."

And despite the fact that her guardian couldn't be but ten feet away, Antonia felt as though (_secrets keeping secrets_) they were worlds apart.


	32. Chapter XXXII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXII_

"Pilar...?" A voice, soft with worry, interrupted her seemingly endless train of thought after miserable thought, bringing it to a screeching halt. Pilar gave her head a weak shake, desperately attempting to claw her way back to reality; opening her eyes, she saw nothing but blurry darkness for a moment, soft shadows easing in and out of her line of vision like diaphanous ghosts in the corners of her eyes.

The moment, thankfully, passed, and she realized that it was Mikalea Banes gently shaking her out of the near sub-consciousness she had been in. Behind her, Zachary Rone, Tyler Eller, and Sam Witwicky watched curiously from where they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, against the opposite wall. Upon seeing that she was awake, if not all right, the small group of boys continued their quiet conversation, though their gazes were drawn back again and again to rest on her.

"Pilar, is something wrong?" Mikaela asked, creases worrying her forehead.

Pilar stared back at her, her eyes owlish and blank. _Yes!_ she wanted to cry, gripping the teenager's shoulders and giving her a panicked shake. _I let my daughter wander off on an alien base alone, alone to do God knows what!_

Sitting with her head cupped in her trembling hands for what felt like an eternity, this thought, sharp and biting, had plagued her ever since Antonia had disappeared behind the corner at the end of the hallway. She still didn't understand why, exactly, she had allowed Antonia to go off on her own, but she had an idea, however useless and weak it might sound.

Antonia needed time to herself, time to think and to be alone. It was as simple as that.

Yet so hard to accept willingly! Pilar longed to thump her head against a wall for being so abysmally stupid as to let her only child stumble around the Autobot base without her. Unfortunately, that wouldn't bring Antonia back, and neither would running off to find her without any sense of direction. As much as she hated to admit it, the only thing she could do without making a fool of both herself and her daughter was wait until the Autobots stopped holding their "dumb secret meeting that we should _totally_ be a part of" as Sam had described it (and to which she silently agreed) and ask one of them to help search for her. Until those enormous doors opened, however, she had no choice but to be patient and pray to _Dio_ that Antonia had enough common sense to keep her hands to herself. There was no telling what dangerous instruments were hiding behind the walls.

"Yes," Pilar managed, remembering that she had yet to answer Mikaela's question. "I'm...I'm fine. I just…I'm worried about Antonia. I should not have let her go off to be by herself. Such a stupid decision..."

"No," Mikaela replied. The expression in her hazel eyes became distant, clouded, as though she was unexpectedly deep in thought. "No, she needed this. She needed to be alone. I could...tell." Her eyes cleared once again, and a wrinkle of confusion appeared between her eyebrows. She blinked once, slowly, before giving her head a shake. "Anyways, I - "

"Hey!" Sam interrupted. He was leaning forward on the tips of his sneakers, his eyes locked on the hallway's farthest corner. He glanced at Mikaela and then at Pilar before returning his gaze to rest on it. "Hear that?"

Mikaela's mouth clamped comically shut mid-sentence, and, her head cocked, she listened. Pilar did as well, slowly pushing herself to her feet as the soft, hollowed sound of approaching footsteps and muffled voices reached her ears. From what she could hear, it sounded like a group of at least three people.

_But how were they able to get in?_ she thought to herself, confused. If she remembered correctly, the one way to gain access to the Autobot base was with a key card, and only a handful of government officials, _high_ government officials, had them. What confused her even more, however, was the odd sound that interrupted the constant footfall every other step or so. It sounded almost like a...a...

The small group of strangers rounded the corner, and her assumption was proven correct. It was a cane, clutched loosely in the soft hand of an old man who's face she could have sworn she had seen somewhere. The white hair atop his head, what was left of it, was thinning; his eyes, shadowed and unreadable in the hallway's dim light, were lined with wrinkles that stretched down the thin cheeks of his pale face. Yet, despite all of these signs of weakness, he still managed to appear powerful and regal, clad in a dark business suit.

This older man was flagged by two others: a handsome, black soldier on his right and a younger soldier on his left. The latter looked disheveled and dirty, but otherwise fine. He stopped his nervous chatter upon noticing the unexpected groups seated around the medical bay's closed door. In fact, all three men stopped in their tracks, peering at the unfamiliar faces of the Autobot charges, unable to identify them in the obscure light.

Sam squinted his eyes. "Who's there?" he called, his voice echoing loudly down the corridor.

A moment of apprehensive silence passed. "I am Jonathon Keller, and this is Sergeant Robert Epps, and Grayson Leigh," the older man replied, gesturing to his companions. He then took a single, curious step forward. "This is a shot in the dark but...I swear that I remember that voice. Is that you, Samuel Witwicky?"

Mikaela let out a soft gasp, and Sam jumped clumsily to his sneakered feet. Against the broken shadow of his face, his eyes widened. "...Mr. Keller?" he repeated, sounding shocked. Beneath the shock, however, was an obvious undertone of relief.

The ex-Secretary of Defense smiled ruefully. "I'm not dead yet, young man."

* * *

"So...This is Hound."

William Lennox sat atop the silver berth beside the enormous, unconscious figure, the dusty tips of his army boots hanging over the berth's edge. He inspected the newest arrival closely, beginning with his intricate facial features, relaxed in stasis rest, and ending with the scuffed, fractured soles of his feet. When he finished, he glanced to where Optimus Prime stood leaning against the closest wall with his thick arms crossed over his chassis. He too was observing Hound, his expression attentive.

"What does he specialize in?" Will asked the Autobot leader.

Optimus approached the berth in slow, careful steps, stopping once he reached Will's side. "He's a tracker. A good one," the lanky mech replied. The tips of his fingers reached out and brushed a deep, ugly wound gouged into Hound's right arm, the misshapen circle of spilled energon that had dried around it. "It doesn't surprise me that he was able to piece together and follow the coordinates that led to Earth. If anyone was going to arrive first, I always believed it would be Hound."

Will was silent as he processed all that Optimus Prime had said. _It doesn't surprise me that he was able to piece together and follow the coordinates that led to Earth..._

The soldier cleared his throat uncomfortably before he continued. When he did, he was unable to meet the Autobot's optics.

"Uh...how did he figure out those coordinates?"

Both knew the answer to the question he had asked, but somehow, it needed to be said aloud.

"I supplied the coordinates," Optimus replied slowly. The tone of his voice had not changed despite the fact that he was feeling oddly wary of Will's intentions. "It was through a message I sent out nearly a year ago, just after Megatron's defeat. It was delivered only to the spark signatures of my soldiers," he added quietly. "To no one else. If there was even the slightest chance that a Decepticon could learn of the coordinates, I would not have risked it."

At this, Will visibly relaxed, his shoulders slumping with obvious relief. "All right...so it's only the good guys who should be crash-landing to Earth."

"Should, yes," Optimus Prime agreed. His enormous hand dropped away from where it had rested against Hound's forearm. "But I have a feeling that Megatron did something of the same. My brother was a reckless, violent, and proud being, but he was not stupid."

"I don't know about that, Optimus," Ironhide grunted, speaking aloud for the first time since they had gathered in the medical bay. The weapon's specialist raised an optic ridge at his commander, his feet propped up on the empty berth bolted beside Hound's. "I always thought that Megatron had a few screws loose. He must have. I mean, he _was_ a Decepticon."

"I'm going to second that, big guy," ex-Agent Simmons piped up. His own booted feet were swinging absently from the edge of the same berth Ironhide had deemed a footrest. "Your lesser sibling was what we _homo sapiens_ like to call 'a few cards short of a full deck', if you catch my drift."

"He was absolutely insane," Ratchet stated in a clipped tone as he walked over from where he had been rummaging around his enormous desk, various medical tools in hand. With a harsh shove, he knocked Ironhide's feet off of the extra berth and gave him a dark glare before making his way over to Hound.

Upon reaching the unconscious tracker, he began to clean the same wound Optimus Prime had touched, an intense scowl on his face. "But insanity and stupidity are not the same, not by a long shot. Besides, it - "

The medic froze. His head tilted to the side, he listened for a moment, as did the other occupants of the room.

A dull banging could be heard, the sound of small, human fists pounding upon the bay's locked door.

"How many times do I have to tell that boy?" Ratchet hissed, slamming a fisted hand against the berth's surface. "He can't come in! Someone's going to be crushed and I do not have the time to clean up...Oh, doesn't he understand the shape Hound currently..._Primus_..." Absently nodding his head at Bumblebee, he glanced back down at the wound he had been cleaning, already absorbed in it once again. "Tell him to leave and play with that strange box he had hooked up to one of the spare screens, Bumblebee."

The small scout gave Ratchet a mock salute before skittering past Jazz and toward the gargantuan door. "Sa-am!" he called through the thick alloy. "I am sorry, but Ratchet has requested that you go and use the 'Playstation'. You are not allowed in for your own safety! But I promise to tell you everything later!" he added in a whisper through the door's crack.

Pressing his head against the door to hear Sam's response, Bumblebee blinked with surprise when he was met with more than once voice, most of them unfamiliar:

"Let us in, 'Bee! This is important!"  
" - Secretary of Def - "  
"This is Grayson Leigh! I need to speak to Optimus - "  
" - Antonia - "

He blinked again, and then glanced up at Optimus Prime. The Autobot leader was watching him, as were Ratchet, Will, ex-Agent Simmons and Ironhide, all five of them looking confused. Jazz, on the other hand, was utterly blank; it was almost as if he wasn't in the medical bay at all, but somewhere else entirely.

No one, however, seemed to notice.

"There is a boy named Grayson who wishes to speak with you, Optimus Prime," Bumblebee stated slowly, still attempting to decipher the barrage of voices. They had not ceased, and if anything, had gotten louder. "That is all I could catch."

_Grayson!_ he thought with surprise. _What is he doing here?_ "Open the door, Bumblebee," Optimus commanded, already making his way over to where the scout was crouched. Before Ratchet could squawk out a protest, the doors shifted to reveal a large group of shouting humans that no longer consisted of just the Autobot charges.

A pair of bright, blue eyes caught Optimus Prime's optics even before the entrance was open.

"It's been far too long, Prime," Jonathon Keller greeted quietly.


	33. Chapter XXXIII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXIII_

The ex-Secretary of Defense slowly, steadily toddled past the surprised group of Autobots, flagged closely on either side by Robert Epps and Grayson Leigh. Sam, Mikaela, Zachary, Tyler and Pilar scuttled in after them before they could be locked out again, and the two small groups converged together in the center of the medical bay.

Keller, upon stopping, turned to stare at Optimus Prime above the heads of those surrounding him.

"My visit is going to require some explanation," he stated, his voice silencing whatever soft chatter had erupted since his arrival. "Are you pressed for time?"

Optimus Prime, his optics still wide and bright with surprise, absently tapped the security code into the keypad bolted to the wall beside the medical bay's entry way, trying to remember off the top of his head if there was anything that needed to be done within the next hour.

"I do not believe so..." he replied momentarily. "If anything does come up, however, I will do my best to postpone it until you are - "

There was a loud clang as Jazz's hand shot between the closing doors, effectively stopping them from shutting completely. After letting out a soft, irritated hiss, they shifted open once again.

|_Optimus, I gotta go. Antonia's missin'._|

The enormous Autobot shot Jazz a quick, questioning glance before looking over his shoulder at the fidgeting group of their human companions, all of whom stared back in confusion at the way he had stopped unexpectedly mid-sentence.

Antonia was not among them.

|_Do you know where she is?_ | Optimus Prime asked, trying to keep his straight, thoughtful expression from slipping. The realization that their All Spark-infected charge wasn't with them had caused a momentary panic attack, one that had not yet ended.

|_Yeah. She's all right. I just think that...I think she needs someone to talk to, that's all._| Jazz gave him a reluctant smile. |_Mind if I ditch?_|

|_Not at all. I will fill you in on what was said when you return._|

|_Thanks, Prime._| After cutting off their communication connection, Jazz's slim, silver form slipped through the doors. His footsteps echoed hollowly down the corridor as he went off to find his charge, the entry way finally closing behind him.

"What was that about?" William Lennox asked. He had since jumped down from his seat atop the berth to stand between Epps and Keller, his arms crossed over his chest. Simmons hovered at his shoulder, twisting his felt cap absently in his hands. "Did something happen?"

Before Optimus Prime could reply, Pilar answered for him. "He's going to find Antonia," she said quietly. She glanced up at her guardian for confirmation. "Right?"

"That is correct. I do not know when they will be back, however," he continued, looking to Keller. "I suggest that we proceed without them. Unless they need to be here...?"

Keller shook his head. "They don't need to be here, but it would be a great help if this discussion was passed along to them." He paused. "Especially to the girl."

"Of course."

"All right, then." Giving his wounded leg a stretch, his wooden cane still clutched in one wrinkled hand, Keller glanced back and forth between the human and Autobot faces.

"Do you mind if we sit? As I said, this is going to take a bit of explanation."

Jonathon Keller surveyed the strange assortment that sat before him, all eyes and optics focused on his lined face, his exhausted expression. His gaze was heavy as he observed his audience, storing each and every new detail he noticed away to be mused over later, when he was alone and had more than enough time to think.

_So much has changed._

More specifically, it was the relationships that had changed, those formed between the Autobots and their human companions. In the months since the showdown at Mission City, these relationships had strengthened, deeper than friendships, deeper, in fact, than anything he had seen before. Some, such as the triangle that connected Sam, Mikaela and Bumblebee, or Sam and Optimus Prime's humble bond, had been strong to begin with. Others, like the unexpected link that existed between William Lennox and Ironhide, had grown an incredible amount in a rather short space of time, little more than a year.

Not only that, but these relationships seemed so...comfortable. As though those involved in them were not of two completely different species, as though they had known each other for years, decades, instead of mere months. And as he stared, quiet and contemplative, he noticed something else: more still were just beginning to bud.

Keller let the silence continue for another moment before he let out a sigh, wishing that he had been around to form a trust with one, or all, of the Autobots. What was about to be discussed would be so much easier to say had they been able to get to know him, to become his friend instead of his acquaintance.

"Thomas Duke," he began, noticing the way Pilar shifted uneasily at the mention of their newest threat, "was, believe it or not, one of my top advisers. More unbelievably, he was personally hand-picked. I admired his youth, his intelligence, his astounding energy, his dedication to following orders given to him without question and following them well. He had all the personality aspects of a natural-born speaker, and as for his ideas, they were always well thought out, meticulous. I could count on him to lend a hand when I needed it most."

Keller's cane made a series of hollow thumps against the medical bay's floor as he began to pace; despite the fact that it was he who had asked that they sit, he was the only one standing, the Autobots and their human charges grouped closely together in a half-circle around him. Grayson Leigh was seated beside Pilar while Robert Epps was leaning against Ironhide's folded leg, Will on one side and Simmons on the other.

His light eyes glazed, Keller continued to pace nervously. "After the shock of all of this, what had happened, finally hit me...Well, you know about that, I suppose. The heart attack wasn't exactly unexpected given the circumstances, but it was the last thing I needed at the time, and because the federal branch didn't believe that I would be returning, certainly not anytime soon, perhaps not at all, I was forced to pick who I believed would best fill my shoes. Everyone was still so scared...No one cared how the next Secretary of Defense was chosen, they merely wanted one, and quickly. I chose Thomas for the very reasons I mentioned earlier."

He stopped abruptly, his expression soft and sad. "I believed in that boy," he stated quietly, his thick eyebrows furrowing together. "I believed in him. I didn't... have the slightest clue that beneath his dependable appearance, he was so obliviously power-hungry. Or maybe I _was_ given a clue. His determination...

"Yes, I suppose I mistook that hunger for determination."

He shook his head before starting to pace once again. "The fact that everyone believed Thomas to be a little green, a little rough around the edges, didn't help null his hunger. It only made him push harder, trying to prove himself, trying to live up to the role that had been handed to him. Each time he failed, he only became more bitter, and I watched that bitterness transform him right before my eyes, sitting in that Godforsaken hospital bed day in and day out. I was forced to look on as my closest, most trusted adviser faded to someone who became uglier and uglier every time he stepped up to speak. Soon, I was unable to recognize him. He was not who he had been, and it was all my fault."

For the time first since he had begun his explanation, Jonathon Keller glanced up, exposing his thin face to his listeners. The hollows around his eyes were dark and brooding. "This, what he is now...It wasn't supposed to happen, this shouldn't _be_ him. But it is him. He has created creatures to do his bidding, he has killed so many innocents, he is no longer in the right of mind! He must be stopped at once before he or his creations can kill again!

"...Or before he can seek revenge on the child who, by accident it seems, made him this way."

His bright, blue eyes searched, and found, Optimus Prime's reflecting optics. "You're fighting a two-sided battle, Prime," Keller stated softly. "One against the Decepticons, and one against what was once a human being. You know very well that there are other members of our race, a large number of them, who are more than willing to aid you in any way possible, risking their lives, putting themselves on the line..." He stopped his nervous pacing, placing his cane between the toes of his expensive leather loafers. "This brings me to the main point of this discussion, which will be explained by young Grayson here. As for what I've just explained...I just wanted you to know that Thomas wasn't always the destructive creature he is now. He was someone else, someone I knew and trusted. However, it was your most recent battle with one of his Locomoticons, as the media has begun to label them, that has given rise to an idea I hope you take into consideration."

Keller then gestured to Grayson Leigh, who looked a little wild, with dirt smudged on his cheeks and his hair unruly, as he hopped to his booted feet. He respectfully waited for the ex-Secretary of Defense to step off to the side, and then proceeded to make his way toward the center of their half circle.

Just as Keller had sought out Optimus Prime, as did Grayson, being that the Autobot leader was the only one with whom he had had contact with.

"That monster on Main Street today," he began, his gaze unexpectedly steady. "It was able to put both Jazz and Bumblebee down for the count long enough to knock you off of your feet, long enough to make you vulnerable. Nearly long enough to kill you."

There was a sharp, unnerving silence as Optimus Prime and Grayson Leigh stared at each other, allowing the words to sink in, to have full affect.

It was Optimus who broke it, bringing his fingers up to rest against the ugly wound gouged into his cheek. Energon had dried dull around it, a soft purple ring. "Yes," he replied quietly. The memory of Diesel rearing up before him like a shadow that had unlatched itself from his body, one just as strong as he himself was, exploded in the back of his mind before fading like the afterimage of a lightning strike. "Yes. He had more than once chance to end me."

Some of the severity in Grayson's kind eyes died, and was replaced with compassionate worry. For one reason or another, he had attempted to keep that worry hidden, trying to harden his appearance. Only then did he realize that he didn't need to pretend to be someone he was not.

"He would not have had _one_ chance if only you had had more help," he said, taking a step toward him with his hands outstretched. "We could be that help: human beings. We could be that help if only you allowed us to be."

"What exactly are you suggesting, boy?" Optimus Prime asked, though he knew. He knew without being told. Grayson was requesting permission for the very thing that Thomas had demanded, and had been denied, months ago.

Grayson rubbed the back of his head, looking a bit like an overgrown child as he shuffled his dusty boots. "I am suggesting we're given access to weaponry that will allow us to help you."

Before the Autobot could reply to this, his optics narrowing defensively, Grayson held up a hand.

"Before you answer me, I need you to think about something," the young soldier stated, his tone determined. "Earth is _our_ planet, o_ur_ home, that we are now sharing with you. As its original inhabitants, don't you think that we should be allowed to defend it from whoever, or whatever, wishes to bring harm upon our race? Don't you think," Grayson took another step forward, his voice becoming passionate, beginning to tremble, "that we should be allowed to defend ourselves, instead of having you, all of you, defend it alone, when you have been here for little more than a year compared to us, the human beings, who have been here for thousands?

"You say that freedom is the right to all sentient beings," he continued loudly. "If you speak the truth, Optimus Prime, then we have the freedom to protect ourselves and what is ours. We have the freedom to risk our own lives if we so choose in order to keep the rest of the population safe. We should not be forced to rely on the Autobot faction alone, especially now, when one of our fellow humans has turned against us with what may be ten new robots at his command, compared to your six. It's about time we stepped in with the defensive firepower that can counter that of our shared enemies, because whether you are ready to admit it or not, you need our help, and we should have the freedom to give it!

"The only thing I was able to do today was distract! My bullets left no imprint on that...that _thing_, and had the situation been different, I would not have been able to help you at all! You might not even be alive right now, and where would we be without you? Huh?" Grayson's eyes sparkled wildly as he searched Optimus Prime's shocked expression, listened to his responding silence. "I _want_ to defend you! I _want_ to help you, I _want_ to be able to protect myself, my race, my home, and I know so many others who do! It's not right that you won't allow us to! _It's not right_!"

As his words rang throughout the expanse of the medical bay, Grayson, his hands shaking, was forced to take a deep breath before he was able to go on. "I'm not asking you to hand out Cybertronian-strength weapons to each and every soldier on the planet. I'm not asking for the masses to have access to lasers and explosives capable of leaving an entire nation in ruins. I don't want what Thomas wanted, and I never will. But I am asking that...that you give those who you trust, maybe a team of them, the means of wounding a Decepticon on their own. The means of helping you and helping themselves.

"I don't know about anyone else, but I don't want to hide while you fight ever again, Optimus Prime. I don't think I would be able to."

His voice cracked, died, so much weaker than the near-yell it had been moments earlier, but as Grayson glanced down at the quivering of his hands, curling them into loose fists, he no longer looked quite so childish.

The silence expanded as the young soldier's words gradually faded away. Human eyes and Autobot optics alike dropped from where they had rested on Grayson's silhouette, slowly turning toward Optimus Prime's indecipherable expression, a twisted mixture of remorse and defeat. It was clear that he was taking all that Grayson had said into consideration, had even, perhaps, done so before their confrontation. Back when Thomas Duke had smiled his clever shark's smile and had placed the idea on the table with the expectancy that it would be accepted without question.

It was harder for him to decide now, however, than it had been then; Thomas was a bad man who had wanted their technology for his own bad uses. Grayson was different. Grayson was good. Young and passionate, but good, untainted, wanting and needing to help, to protect, what was his own and those who he considered his friends.

How could he possibly say no to that? With all that was happening, with all that had the possibility of happening in the near future, how could he say no to pure, moral help, help with no strings attached, when it was offered?

Moreover, how could he deny a race's basic right to defend themselves?

Optimus Prime did not want to end another battle with the small, broken, bleeding bodies of human soldiers littering his feet; he did not want to hear their screams and their sobbing as they clutched whatever gaping holes had blasted ways into their chests. However horrible it sounded, he had grown used to the aching grinds and groans of the dying of his own race. He had not grown used to the pealing shrieks of dying humans, or the way their facial features slackened when they finally passed on, the color of their eyes fading away more gradually than the light of Cybertronian optics.

He had not grown used to it, and he wouldn't, not for a long time to come. But he needed to accept that their lives were their own to give. He could not protect those who were ready and willing to fight beside him, those who refused to listen to him as he begged them to hide. He could, however, give them the means to defend themselves. If they were going to fight, then they deserved the chance to make it out alive.

It was time that he allowed the human race to make their own decisions.

"You are right, Grayson."

The shock that stole over the soldier's expression was almost comical; for a moment, it looked as though he would reply with something along the lines of _I am?_ But he regained himself readily enough, straightening his shoulders as he met Optimus Prime's optics, and nodded.

"Ironhide, Will?" The two glanced up at the same time, the surprise on their faces reflecting one another's. "I am placing you both in joint charge of this...group that Grayson has suggested. Do everything in your power to begin it, as soon as possible. I suppose that some candidates for positions within this group have already made themselves clear," he stated, his gaze shifting from Robert Epps, who grinned, to Simmons, and finally to Grayson, where it lingered before returning to Ironhide and his charge, "but I trust your judgment."

"You got it, big guy," Will replied loftily, looking both excited and distressed at being in charge of a human-Autobot operatives group, one that the government didn't to have any clue of yet. He turned to Jonathon Keller, who still stood off to the side, his cane resting between his feet and his thin face laced in shadow.

"I guess I should've asked this earlier, but have you got any clue as to who's the new Secretary of Defense now that Tom's gone?" Will asked him, his eyebrows raised in question. "I need to speak to him, whoever he is."

Keller blinked once, and then smiled, his bright eyes sparkling. "Well...You're looking at him, Captain Lennox. I guess I should have explained that earlier, hm?" he continued, when met with bewildered silence.

Just as Optimus Prime was wearily wondering how many more surprises he could take within the space of an hour, the medical bay doors let out a soft hiss as they shifted open. Within their frame was Jazz, his short, pointed silhouette outlined against the hall's dim light. Antonia's shorter, thinner silhouette stood beside his own.

"Glad everyone's still here." he stated as he looked around, his expression, his voice, indecipherable.

"We gotta talk."

* * *

Pain.

It was something he kept buried for the sake of those around him. His soldiers, his friends, his charges; none of them needed to see or experience what he chose to remember instead of forget, nor did he want them to see or experience it. Pain was private. Death was private. Mourning was private.

The one being whom he had once shared such things with was now the same one who gave him pain, the one he still mourned, the one who had decided to uncoil herself from his spark ever since he had landed on Earth, giving him relief from her memory's suffocation. He had known that she would return eventually, just as all matters did; releasing her so that he could focus on the present instead of the past, however...It had been a light within the dark. A light he had snatched at greedily. He did so not because he didn't love her, but because he did. Too much.

He had known that she would return to reclaim her hold in him. He had expected her return to come when he was alone one night, recharge elusive and resistant; a midnight surprise, one he both cursed and blessed.

He had not expected her return to come with Antonia Marez, his lover's name the proof she needed to back up the fact that the All Spark spoke to her. As soon as Elita had been mentioned, he knew that Antonia was not lying. Jazz would not have told her, and Sam and Mikaela were unaware of her existence. She had found out about his sparkmate's demise through the All Spark and its ugly knowledge of everything and anything that had ever happened.

His face had been an open book for a moment after Elita's name had slipped from Antonia's lips, only a moment. After that, he had let the expression fade before it could be seen. He'd held the throbbing, aching, roaring pain that accompanied her memory within him until the group had drifted apart, each wandering off in twos and threes to do what needed to be done, to think about what had been discussed.

It all right, now, to let the agony go rampant. He was alone, alone for as long as he wanted to be. He could let her live again, playing her face, her voice, her smile, on repeat for the remainder of the afternoon, for the course of the night. He was overdue this unsatisfying experience. He had been happy for far too long. _Primus, but it hurts..._

"I lost someone too."

Optimus Prime jerked with surprise, the small voice sending him reeling. Pressing one enormous hand against the wall to steady himself, he turned around, his optics wide and bright.

A small face stared up at him, her eyes hidden beneath stray locks of raven hair and the shadow that cast itself across her cheeks like a bandit's mask. Her expression was soft, compassionate, but wary, unsure of herself and what she was saying but desperately attempting to connect with him.

"It was my husband. Eliazar. I married him when I was seventeen years old," Pilar said softly, barely louder than a whisper. Something glittered against her finger as she toyed with it, a distraction. A ring. "I thought I loved him, and maybe I did. All I know is that...I held him down. I must have, because he left.

"We...grew out of love, and he left."

He could feel her dark gaze on him, searching, still so careful and tentative. "I saw you, what you looked like, when Antonia mentioned her. I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry because I know how it feels. I know how much it hurts. And if...you ever need someone to talk to..." She tried for a small smile, reserved but pure. "I'm willing to listen. I won't ask questions.

"I'll just listen."

Optimus Prime stared at her in absolute silence. He _wanted_ to say thank you, to say that this was what he needed, someone to listen, to hear him talk about her and what had happened to her, a living witness of his love for his spark-mate despite the fact that she was gone and would not return, not in this life. He _wanted_ to share his pain and receive whatever comfort he could in exchange for it, no matter how short-lived that comfort was. He _wanted_ to have someone bear his pain for him, instead of keeping it private and hidden. For once.

Instead, a response was out of his mouth before he had time to comprehend what he was saying, its words intertwined with an anger he did not know he felt, bottled up along with his ache. How _dare_ this simple human being even attempt to compare her broken relationship, one that had died because her interest with her husband had died, not because they were pried apart by whatever hands worked Fate, to his own?

How _dare_ she approach him when he was at his weakest, when he needed to be alone?

"You do not have the slightest clue as to what I am feeling," he stated coldly, bitter and embarrassed. "The love you felt for your husband was bound by a small silver ring and a hope that it would stay alive, while mine was a love that was destined to happen with a being who was destined to be mine, and I her's. Your love lasted a matter of years, short and painful, while my own lasted thousands, and would still be just as strong as ever if she was still alive. Is _still_ just as strong.

"Your love can be replaced as though it was a literal object, something that can be touched, taken, bought and sold. Mine cannot. An entire half of my spark is missing and it has no replacement that fits the same way Elita's did, as perfect as her's was when meshed with mine. You do not understand, and you never will.

"I do not want your pity. I want to be alone."

Pilar's expression shattered. It was the only word that fit; it shattered like glass, but the soft pieces of her face fell so easily into their scattered places that it was clear that pain, such blatant, unadulterated pain, was nothing new to her.

_Oh Primus, what is wrong with me?_ He stiffened, a moan nearly escaping his throat as he struggled to pull together an apology he hadn't known he would need. "No, no, wait, I didn't - "

"You're right," she sputtered, taking a stumbling step backward, trying to escape from him the same way she had followed him. "You're right, of course you're right. Just because you're an alien who's able to live more than one million of my own lifetimes means that your emotions run stronger than those humans experience. Yes. You're right." She sounded so bitter, her normally warm, inviting tone unexpectedly harsh and struggling, a crow's caw.

His own became desperate. "Please, Pilar, I just...I didn't - "

"I'm sorry." Her eyes were bright, lined with burning tears. Her lips were twisted into a sad, trembling smile, the same one he had seen when watching her through the opaque window of the infirmary. "You're right. I don't know what _real_ pain is. I'm sorry, I'll go. I'm sorry."

His hand reached out toward her, the tips of his fingers trembling, yet he caught nothing but thin air. She'd run from him, quickly turning the corner and disappearing from sight, her fists twitching with the desire to knuckle at her eyes like a wounded child. By the time he reached where she had been standing, she had vanished. He could hear her footsteps fading away down the maze that was the hallway, and he listened to her disappear into its dim light.

Optimus Prime collapsed against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor, exhaustion and shame weighing down his shoulders like boulders.

He didn't know whether or not he would have been able to explain why her simple, comforting words had caused such a reaction out of him, why they had ripped open an ugly wound that was had only been bleeding a little. He didn't know whether he _had_ an explanation, or a good one, at least. He didn't know whether she would want to hear it. Maybe she would, because she understood it, the exquisite pain that accompanies the death of someone so beloved that the essence of who you are was reshaped with their passing.

She said she did, and he would have to believe her.

All he could see was her upturned face, her hopeful expression, as she stepped toward him. _"I'll just listen," _Pilar whispered in his mind, over and over, a guilty memory. When was the last time anyone had offered such a thing to him?

Had anyone ever?

_"I'll just listen."_


	34. Chapter XXXIV

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXIV_

"...still on the search for ex-Secretary of Defense, Thomas Duke, and his band of..."

"...Duke and the Locomoticons remain at large, despite the fact that but one has been seen..."

"Main Street victims have given reports that the Locomoticon, dubbed 'Diesel', witnessed during Friday's battle was able to put Autobots Jazz and Bumblebee down for the count within seconds..."

"...would have certainly ended Autobot leader Optimus Prime had another Autobot, whose name is currently unknown, not intervened..."

"The idea that this Diesel was able to single-handedly defeat three Autobots, one of them being the Autobot leader, has caused an outcry for better defense..."

"...We can no longer rely on..."

"...government sectors involved with the Autobots have yet to comment…"

He dropped his hand from where it rested against the satellite's cold shell, yanking the tips of his fingers from its exposed wires and watching as the small, multicolored cords sputtered, sparked, and died. He cared nothing for the human reaction to the incident that had happened less than forty-eight hours prior.

He had found what he needed to know.

"Soundwave."

The enormous Deception slowly turned to face Barricade, undaunted by his companion's four slitted optics and the soft shine of his pointed dentals.

"What exactly are you looking for?" the cruiser snapped irritably, taking a rumbling, heavy step toward him. "There is nothing on this planet that could save either of us from the ugly fate we now share! Believe me, I have searched for a way, for an escape, and have found nothing short of joining the opposite side."

Soundwave remained unperturbed, his visored gaze boring into Barricade's own. Ever since Barricade had discovered him emerging from the smoking depths of the crater his crash-landing had created, his attitude, his very tone, had been incredibly petulant. It was as though he expected Soundwave to commiserate with him about their hopeless situation on Earth, or about the way Starscream had so readily abandoned their original mission to begin one of his own.

In fact, he felt the opposite way. He thought that the hand that had been dealt to him, to _them_, was a good one rather than a bad one, though the opportunities it provided went unnoticed by the short-sighted Barricade. Not only that, but he was incredibly grateful that the egotistical, reckless seeker was causing messes and creating trouble somewhere else, for someone else. He didn't have the desire or the patience to deal with his unpredictable personality.

Unfortunately, Barricade wasn't whom he would have chosen to be stranded with either.

"Joining the opposite side..." Soundwave mused tonelessly. "Have you given that idea any in-depth thought?"

Barricade's maroon optics flashed as he gave a visible shudder. "No! I would rather be offline than become one of them!" he snarled defensively, his claws clicking. "My loyalty will always lie with the Decepticons!"

Soundwave inspected his fellow Decepticon in silence for a moment, as if trying to find a hole or a doubt in his proclamation. His answer seemed disappointingly airtight, however, and as much as he would have loved to offline Barricade for harboring traitorous thoughts, he would have to deal with his company a little longer; what he had in mind required his presence, just in case things did not turn out the way he wanted them to.

Soundwave turned away from Barricade, tilting his head back so that he could stare at the cloudless sky.

"As will my loyalty," he echoed in reply. "But you are wrong. There _is_ something we can do that does not force us to resort to becoming Autobots to survive. It will require a sacrifice of our pride for the time being, but that sacrifice should be well worth what we will receive if all goes according to plan."

Grudgingly, Barricade's curiosity was perked, not only by the suggestion of a plan but by Soundwave himself. He had changed a great deal from what he remembered of him. Without Megatron there to hold his reins, Soundwave was no longer his, or anyone else's, lackey. He had taken charge, something that Barricade did not precisely mind. He was more of a follower; the concept of leadership was foreign to him.

Soundwave's step up to command went unchallenged.

"What do you mean?" he inquired impatiently.

"You have heard of the human being Thomas Duke?"

The cruiser nodded, his mouth twisting into a hideous grimace that managed to look both impressed and furious at the same time. "Starscream is the one who made him into what he is now," he hissed. "Right before the slagger - "

"We are going to find him," Soundwave interrupted.

"Who? Starscream?"

"No." _What an irritatingly useless pile of scrap I have been partnered with._ "Duke. We need to find that human before he does anything so reckless as to kill himself."

Barricade scowled. "Why should we care whether or not that cyborg is terminated? If you take away his robotic appendages, he is nothing more than another disgusting fleshling."

"That is where you are wrong," Soundwave replied. He shot a glance at Barricade from over his shoulder, his visor glinting in the bright light of the sun. "Starscream did not make Thomas what he is now. He does not have that ability. Only one being does, and that is the Sparkchild. She infected him with the power of the All Spark. Starscream merely took away his humanity.

"Which makes him all the easier to take advantage of."

When Barricade remained silent, obviously confused, Soundwave continued. "From the information I have gathered, Thomas sent a specific half-spark after Optimus Prime, one that was larger, heavier, than he was. There is a reason as to why he did so: he wanted to offline Prime. Although it was a poorly calculated move, as these half-sparks are both incredibly dim-witted and clumsy, it had a purpose. Thomas has a purpose, a drive. A vengeance. More than one.

"If I was to take an educated guess, this cybernetic creature is attempting to kill off those who have wronged him, who have, in his eyes, made him the way he is. Starting with Prime, and ending with the Sparkchild. While we are in need of Sparkchild's power, we too share Duke's vengeance. The desire to kill those who have done us wrong."

Soundwave was incredibly still, incredibly frightening, as he spoke, his tone forever flat. "That Witwicky boy will pay for ending Megatron's life. He will _pay_."

Barricade tensed beneath Soundwave's hidden, heavy gaze, his lifeless voice sending his circuits into a fritz that he kept well-hidden.

"But we cannot penetrate the Autobot base alone," the cruiser stated slowly. "It would be two against six, and that is not counting the humans, however weak they may be."

"That is it, Barricade," Soundwave responded, cocking his head at him as though the answer was an obvious one. "We are not alone.

"We have Thomas Duke and the half-sparks."

* * *

Tyler Eller never thought he would miss something so familiar, so ordinary, as the sun.

Sitting on the edge of a medical bay berth, his eyes boring into some indivisible spot on the cold, metal wall and Ratchet and Zachary's conversation tuned down to nothing more than insignificant background noise, the blond attempted to remember how long it had been since he had seen the outside, had felt the heat of the desert press up against his face. It couldn't have been that long, less than two days at the most, a handful of hours, most of which had been spent sleeping...and dodging giant robots.

_Then why does it feel as though it had been forever?_

Tyler sighed. He had an answer to that question, little good it could do him. It was the canned air, the dim lights, and what he personally thought of as the sort of "futuristic prison" decor that was the Autobot base. Nothing had ever been so unattractive to all five of his senses; it even _tasted _bad. Not that he had licked the walls or anything, but the very air he was breathing smelled of machinery, and although he would never ask them, he wondered how Sam and Mikaela had bore this torture so well and so long.

If he could barely last a few days locked up in here, how had they lasted more than a _year_? The very idea boggled his mind.

The Linebacker let his head drop sorrowfully into his hands, unaware that his name was being called. It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't been raised to love the outdoors. For as long as he could remember, he had been doing something outside, more often than not some sort of sport: soccer, baseball, basket ball on the black top, football, lacrosse, swimming, everything and anything. Even fishing once or twice, though he had grown fidgety after about an hour.

And unlike many other people, weather had never been an issue for him; it had never been something that held him back, had kept him from going outdoors. He enjoyed the light of the sun just as much as he enjoyed the feel of the rain, the wind. While other children had cringed at the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning, he had laughed and clapped with delight, always making his way toward a window where he could see the action happen or, when he could, escaping his mother's grasping hands to run out the front door, whooping like a lunatic. He had never known to fear a storm.

On the days when he had been forbidden to go out, or worse, bedridden with a sickness, it was as if the world as he knew it had come to an end. This mindset had not changed as he had gotten older. If anything, it had gotten stronger.

Which made it all the worse to be a prisoner of overprotective Autobots.

_If only there was a window or _something_..._

"Tyler! Hey, Ty! EARTH TO TYLER!"

"Huh?" Tyler's head jerked up as soon as he realized his name was being called, nearly clipping Zachary in the chin. After blinking a few times in delayed surprise, he focused his eyes on the thin redhead, looking a little shell-shocked as he rearranged his skewered glasses, standing before him.

Tyler flashed him a grin. "What's up?"

Zach scowled at his friend, though it was without venom. "I was just trying to tell you that you can leave now," he replied, finally fixating his glasses over the ridge of his freckled nose. "You've checked out. Your leg isn't healing, not yet, but it doesn't seem to be getting any worse."

"I guess that's good, huh?" As Zach shrugged and nodded, Tyler sighed again. "Thanks for the update, I guess."

He slid off the side of the lowered berth and into the seat of his wheelchair, oblivious to the groan it made beneath his muscled weight. Then, swiveling around, its thin tires squealing against the spotless floor, he turned to face Ratchet.

_Eh...Why not?_ "Yo, Doc-Bot," he called. "Can I ask a question?"

"Go for it," Ratchet replied in a preoccupied tone. Although Tyler couldn't see exactly what he was fiddling with, as his back was turned, it looked like another sharp medical instrument that's name was probably long and hard to pronounce, its uses obscure.

All the same, he proceeded with caution. "Do you think there's even the _slightest _chance I could go outside for a bit?"

Ratchet stiffened, then glanced over his shoulder at him, one optic ridge raised in question. "Why do you need to go outside?" he asked. "There is a lavatory in the human quarters."

"I don't need to go to the bathroom!" Tyler squawked defensively, lunging half-heartedly at Zachary, who was pealing laughter. "What I need is a breath of fresh air! I'm suffocating in here!"

"Oh." Ratchet returned his attention to whatever he was busy with atop his desk. "In that case, no. Actually, in any case, the answer would be no. We are not risking your safety for a simple walk in the park, Mr. Eller."

"C'mon!" he cried indignantly, throwing his hands into the air. "I'm not the one the Decepticons want! Why would they care about - "

"The answer is no." Ratchet cast one last optic ridge-raised glare. "That is final."

Tyler let out an exaggerated moan, his enormous hands tightening into fists as he slumped low in his chair, his expression stormy. All he had wanted was a few moments' time outside of the Autobot base. Was that _really_ so much to ask for, what with six enormous robotic guardians and soldiers toting guns bigger than they themselves were lurking around every corner?

As he turned to propel himself out of the medical bay, his face still twisted into an uncharacteristic scowl, a hoarse voice that he had not heard before stopped him in his tracks.

"I wouldn't mind taking the boy outside, Ratchet."

Squirming around in the sloping bucket of his seat, Tyler stared in surprise at the green and silver robot that had been silent ever since he had arrived with Optimus Prime, Bumblebee and Jazz at the base, only to speak up at the time he had needed someone to the most.

"Hound, you are in no condition to do anything but rest right now," Ratchet replied curtly, turning toward him with his hands planted on his hips. A heavy-looking wrench was grasped within the fingers of one neon hand, but Hound either ignored it or didn't notice it, ready to be thrown if their conversation was to escalate. Tyler admired the new Autobot's courage.

Hound waved away Ratchet's concern. "Oh, I'm fine. A few scratches and dents is all it is. Nothing major."

"Oh? Are you a doctor now?" Ratchet's optics narrowed with cool interest, though he did set the wrench back down on the table's spotless top. Tyler considered this a good sign, and he felt a smile begin to creep its way onto his face.

Hound bowed his head humbly. "My intention wasn't to offend you, old friend. I was merely...giving my opinion," he replied. "Besides, I know how the young human feels. I have been in here for only a few hours time, and already I wish to go out and explore." Hound's optics brightened as he presented Ratchet with a careful smile. "Earth seems like a very interesting planet."

After a moment of silent scrutiny, Ratchet returned it. "That it is, as you will soon find out for yourself." He then leaned against his metal desk and, crossing his arms over his chassis, nodded toward the door. "Go on, then. But be careful! That boy is considered precious cargo. We would not want him exploded out of existence, now would we?"

"You have no faith in me," Hound accused in a faux tone of disbelief as he pushed himself to his feet. "I will sense any Decepticon signatures long before they get close enough to do damage. I assure you, the youngling will be fine."

Ratchet watched as Hound walked past Tyler Eller, beckoning to him when the boy merely stared after him in delighted surprise. After a shout of "You rock!", and Hound's flattered though confused reply, "But I am not a...well, thank you?", the two disappeared into the hallway, Tyler rolling along at a breakneck speed in order to catch up to the tracker, Hound slowing down so that he could.

Even before the doors shifted silently shut behind them, Ratchet's smile widened. Hound and Tyler fit; they _clicked, _certainly more so than Tyler had with Ironhide, and just as he had with Zachary.

At the thought of his charge, Ratchet glanced down to where the redhead sat on the lowered berth's edge. His single good eye was staring off into space and a frown was plastered on his freckled face; worry lines had creased his forehead. He looked troubled.

"Is something wrong?" the Autobot asked.

Zach blinked once, slowly, before turning to stare at his guardian. His worry lines deepened.

"Do you think Hound can sense half-sparks?"

Tyler stared out at the expanse of sand, his eyes focusing on the faraway horizon where the bright, cloudless sky collided with the edge of the Earth. Clouds of dust rolled and barreled past him as a playful breeze tickled the dunes, pressing the particles lightly against his rugged cheeks.

He turned to stare at Hound, his blue eyes sparkling with an untarnished delight. "It's nice, isn't it?" he said, though it didn't sound like a question. It was more of a statement. _An understatement,_ Hound thought, _at that._

"It is more than nice!" the stocky Autobot replied, his tone awed. "It is beautiful, your planet!"

Tyler let out a good-natured laugh, running an enormous hand through his hair, his chest rising as he inhaled deeply. "This isn't all there is, either! There's a lot more: mountains, rivers, oceans. There's land covered entirely in snow. There's places, as big as this and bigger, where you can see nothing but grass in all directions. There's caves, there's waterfalls, there's...there's so much. So much I haven't seen myself yet, but it's out there." He collapsed back into his chair, as though the idea of all the places he had mentioned was strong enough to physically wear him out. "It's just as beautiful as this, Hound. Just as beautiful."

Hound listened as the teenager spoke of what he had yet to witness, his optics roving hungrily over the scene they stood, side by side, before: the desert that seemingly went on forever, red sands constantly shifting beneath their feet; the black silhouette of a multi-pointed mountain range farther away, in line with the horizon; the gleam of Mission City's blocky buildings as they glittered in the sun; the flawless blue of the globe of sky above them.

It was everything he had never seen before, and it was incredible.

After another moment of silent observation, the Autobot smiled. He shot Tyler a mischievous glance.

"What do you say, boy?" he asked, backing away a step as he began to transform. Tyler watched, his eyebrows cocked in question. "Let's go driving."

He had barely finished his sentence before the teenager was skittering clumsily out of his wheelchair and throwing himself into the driver's seat of the dusty green jeep, hefting into the small, stocky car with the help of the steering wheel.

"Hells yes!" he cried excitedly, tugging the belt tight around his waist and gripping the sides of the seat in anticipation. "Drive as fast as you can!"

Hound needed no provocation; with a roar of his engine, the scout was off, swerving away from the Autobot base and down the slope of a dune, his tires skidding and sliding crazily against the unstable sand. Tyler let out a breathless whoop as they propelled over another dune, Hound leaving the ground and hanging suspended within the air for a space of five, slow seconds before crashing back down with a bone-grinding thump and continuing on his way, a roller coaster with no track, no specified destination.

By the time they were far enough away from the base to have forgotten Ratchet's warning, to have forgotten everything but sky and wind and sand, both Tyler and Hound were crying out with a delight that resounded throughout the desert in a boyish, happy ring:

_"YAAAAAHOOOOOO!"_

_

* * *

_

Pilar let out a soft, shaky breath, her eyes slipping closed as she leaned back to lie against the cool floor.

Her fingers stretched themselves out, forming a five-pointed star on top of the metal tile beneath her. Her jean-clad legs slowly collapsed like tent poles, dropping until the backs of her knees brushed the ground, until she herself was a five-pointed star as well. Two legs, two arms, and one head, a head that ached and throbbed with an angry, patronizing voice that she childishly wished she had never heard, and would never hear, again.

_Why did I even bother?_ she thought, feeling furious tears well up beneath her closed lids, skewering the darkness of her vision. It was as though she was looking into a rippling lake of ebony. _Why did I have to care?_

She, of all people, should know by now that compassion and pain came hand-in-hand, that love and ache were bosom buddies. Yet, despite all of her experience, despite all of the brutal lessons life had taught to her, she had not learned. She was a bad student, one that didn't understand the very basics; or, rather, one that refused to understand.

Pilar slowly opened her eyes, willing the tears away as she stared up at the rounded ceiling of the enormous, empty room she had found, one of many that the Autobots had not yet discovered a use for. She listened to Optimus Prime berate her for her kindness, his booming voice resonating within her head, and her expression hardened.

How she _wished_ she had found some response bitter enough to sting him back for what he had said! How she _wished_ she had returned his vicious, venomous reply with one just as sharp!

But instead of fighting back, she had run away, she had cowered and whimpered, escaped to lick her wounds the way an abused animal might, and for a horrible moment, her hate for her guardian was so daunting, so strong, _How could I have let him treat me that way?_, that it frightened her.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone.

She trembled in its aftermath, letting out a snort of breath through her nose. Even though she knew how weak it was, she did not have the strength to hate someone any longer than a few quick, merciless seconds. She did not have the will power or the desire.

She did not want to hate Optimus Prime, and she because she didn't, because she couldn't, the ugly emotion vanished, and it left her feeling both exhausted and relieved.

With its disappearance, a small seed of understanding planted itself in her thoughts, and she allowed it to grow, to gain strength.

She knew what it was like to lose someone. She had lost Eliazar. Granted, he had not been a good husband, but before they had been married, he had been a wonderful friend; the best and closest of her companions, without the confusion and dedication of love to mar their platonic relationship.

It was _him_ she had lost, the only loss she still mourned, that sweet-faced, mischievous boy who had once held her hand without a lusting thought, who had once been her friend and nothing more, not a lover or a husband. Just a boy. A harmless boy.

How it had hurt to be rejected by that same friend; how it had hurt to be that boy's punching bag in more ways than one, and she had expressed that hurt through tears, countless, heart-wrenching tears that seemed to be draining from an enormous lake of them she had trapped within her, somewhere deep, somewhere dark.

Perhaps her guardian expressed his pain differently. Perhaps he expressed his pain through anger.

_Like Antonia,_ she thought distractedly. _Just like Antonia._

It would be best if she did not mention the subject of his deceased sparkmate again. He would only become defensive, and if he became defensive, she knew what that would mean. She had learned this lesson, at least, because it was important: it would mean that he was hurting, and she did not want to hurt him.

If he wanted to talk about her, about his Elita, then he would, and she would listen, just as she had promised him. That promise had not died, even if the reaction she had received wasn't the one she had wanted.

Pilar closed her eyes for a second time, letting herself drift, and when she felt the vibrations of heavy, Autobot-sized footsteps shake the metallic ground beneath her, she did not tense into a ball, did not sit up. She stayed the way she was, spread out into a star that did not glow and was, disappointingly, completely and imperfectly human.

He stopped once he reached the door, and stood in its frame, staring at her with a heavy gaze that she could feel focused on her face.

It was only when he approached her, his movements calculated and careful, uneasy, that her lips spread into a smile that she couldn't hold back. His sheepish return reminded her of a child's, a little boy who had done something bad and wanted to make amends. It reminded her, again, of Antonia.

"What's up?" she asked softly, as he slowly sat down beside her.

He didn't respond immediately, his dim optics staring at some indivisible spot on the wall, his gaze both absent and sad. The scratch that he had received earlier in the day was all too visible against the slope of his cheek. His newest wound would become a scar, one that lay beneath his right optic in the shape of a boomerang.

"I am sorry," he replied, just when the silence was beginning to lengthen to the point that Pilar wanted to close her eyes again. An odd answer to her question, but she accepted it readily enough. The truth in it was something she both sensed and heard.

Pilar shrugged her shoulders clumsily. "Let's pretend it never happened," she offered.

Maybe he heard the desperation that she was unable to keep out of her voice, or maybe, most likely, he wanted to forget it too, that unattractive memory of himself. Either way, her guardian's smart response made her smile widen a few notches.

"What never happened?"


	35. Chapter XXXV

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXV_

"Hey Hound?"

The green and silver Autobot opened his optics at the sound of his newest friend's voice, and stretched contentedly against the slope of the dune before pushing himself into a sitting position. Shading his bright gaze from the glare of the setting sun, he glanced over to where Tyler lay beside him, his hands tucked behind his head and one leg crossed over its encased other. The teenager's face, bronzed and healthy, glowed with the same emotions Hound felt: peace, simple happiness.

Tyler blinked when Hound's shadow fell across his body, and he too opened his eyes, sat up. He was silent for a moment, observing the Autobot thoughtfully; as he did so, rehearsing what he was about to ask for the umpteenth time, wondering why his question seemed so hard to voice aloud and unable to admit that he was afraid of a gentle but firm rejection, _No, I'm sorry, Tyler, you're stuck with a guardian that despises you, _he wished that it was already over and done with. He wished he knew the answer, and above all, he wished it was the answer he wanted to hear.

His chest inflated, deflated, as he took an uneasy breath, preparing himself.

"If I asked him," he began, forcing the steadiness of his voice to remain strong, "do you think Optimus Prime would allow me to switch guardians?"

Hound started with surprise, his optic ridges narrowing in curiosity. "Is there something wrong with your current guardian, boy?" he replied, all the while wracking his processor in an attempt to remember which of his fellow Autobots Tyler had been paired with. It was only after making a few cross connections, _Ratchet and Zachary, Bumblebee, Sam and Mikaela, Jazz and Antonia, Optimus and Pilar, Ironhide and..._he realized that Tyler had been placed under the guardianship of Ironhide after Optimus had discovered there was no one else for him to go with. Considering the fact that Ironhide was spoken for as far as charges go, and taking into account the weapons specialist's nasty personality...

"Oh." Hound winced and wilted at Tyler's expression, which had changed from its earlier tranquility. It had turned stormy, wounded. "You are...Ironhide's charge."

"He hates my guts," Tyler stated bluntly. His eyebrows furrowed together as he bowed his head, staring at his hands splayed in his lap. "He hates me, and I don't even know _why_. While Zach is buddying up to Ratchet, while Antonia and Jazz are sharing secrets...My guardian's hiding from me." Tyler's weak attempt at an incredulous smile died before it reached his lips. "Do you know how shitty that makes me feel? I mean, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I did something to...to _offend _him, but I didn't. I did _nothing _and yet, he can't stand to be around me!"

Hound remained quiet as he listened, his frown deepening with every sentence Tyler completed. He wondered absently if Ironhide had the slightest clue he had affected his reluctant charge so much, and at the same time, he answered this flyaway thought himself: No. There was not a chance Ironhide cared enough about what others thought or felt, much less about what a youngling thought and felt, to realize how much he had hurt Tyler. It made him sad to think that his old friend had not changed from what he remembered of him on Cybertron. Since Chromia's death, he had been so bitter.

"Is it me, Hound?" Tyler asked, bringing Hound out of his reverie. His tone had become accusing, though Hound knew that these accusations were not aimed at him. "Is it me? Is there something wrong with _me_?"

The stocky Autobot lifted his hands in an attempt to dissuade his human companion. "Tyler - "

"Because if there is," he continued, speaking above Hound's voice, his own sounding forced and increasingly angry. "I think I should know. You need to tell me the truth too, you can't lie to make me feel better about it! That won't help - "

"Tyler." When his name was spoken, as though it was a command, the teenager stopped, his chest rising and falling with quick, short breaths. His gaze bore into Hound's own, searching for an explanation.

"Is it me?" he barked once more, his jaw set firmly, furiously.

Hound stared back at him, calm. Nothing about his demeanor hinted at the pain he was feeling for the first human friend that he had made since arriving on Earth, nor did anything hint at the uncharacteristic irritation he felt, one that was steadily escalating into fury, toward Ironhide. _If only you knew,_ he thought again of the weapon's specialist distractedly. _Would it make any difference?_

"It is not you," Hound said softly. "It is Ironhide. But you must realize something. He has...faced hardships that have caused him to act the way he does. He is hurt, Tyler. Incredibly so. He is..." _Optimus Prime lost a spark-mate as well, yet he is nothing like Ironhide._

He sighed, the air whistling through his intakes as this realization popped up in his processor. "...That...that does not justify his behavior towards you, and I was foolish to think so," he admitted sorrowfully. _Why am I making up excuses for him? He does not deserve them._ "I am sorry."

Tyler's expression softened, the storm system that had haunted his expression breaking down into nothing more than rain clouds, each of them a different shade of gray. "It's all right, it just..." He shrugged and allowed his sentence to end there.

_It just hurts, that's all,_ Hound pieced together silently. _Of course it does. I would hurt too._

He scooted closer to Tyler, slipping along the sand on his backside. Desperate to redirect the conversation, he poked him in the side teasingly. "Who are you going to request to become your new guardian?" Hound asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Tyler, however, caught on quickly, and he shot the Autobot a small smile.

"Take a guess," he suggested.

Though he had had an idea that it would be him, it was nonetheless flattering to learn that it was true. Hound's spark warmed within his chassis as he returned Tyler's smile with one of his own. "I think I would greatly enjoy being your guardian," he stated. "Of course, if it was me you were talking about..."

"Yeah, it's you, Sherlock," Tyler countered playfully. His expression had bounced yet again. It was momentously happy, sunlight breaking through the clouds on his face. "You mean it, though? You wouldn't mind being my guardian?"

"Wouldn't mind? Did I not just say, 'greatly enjoy'?" Hound replied, his optics bright. He carefully lifted Tyler by tucking his fingers around his torso and placed him companionably on his shoulder.

"I mean it," he confirmed. "I would like it very much."

Tyler stared at Hound, a goofy smile that he couldn't seem to control still plastered on his lips. He didn't know what to say, was at an utter loss for words that didn't sound as though they came straight off the sentimental bromance bandwagon, and even those seemed unsuitable for this situation. The feeling of being wanted, the feeling that he had a guardian that he could connect with and enjoy being around, just as Antonia did with Jazz and Sam did with Bumblebee, was not a feeling that could be described and explained with words. How quickly Hound had caught on to him and how readily he had accepted his request further rendered him silent. His earlier, skittering uncertainty about Hound's response seemed so silly to him now.

Trying to regain the ground that had been tugged away so unexpectedly beneath him, Tyler was forced to resort to what he knew and did best.

"You know what this is?" he asked, giving an exaggerated sigh as he leaned back against Hound's shoulder plating. "This is a Kodak moment."

Hound, more than pleased with Tyler's rebound, was on the verge of agreeing with him when he stopped mid-nod, looking a little confused.

He glanced at Tyler. "What is a Kodak?"

* * *

"Have you listened to our inferior Earth music yet?"

Jazz's optical visor flickered and brightened, and he propped his arms beneath him so that he could rest against his elbows. He glanced at Antonia, sitting a few feet away and holding something small and square with a pair of earphones tucked around it.

She raised an eyebrow in curiosity and dangled the thin object by the white wire of its earphones, teasing him with it.

"Well?" she asked. "Have you, _amigo_?"

Jazz pushed himself into a sitting position. "Once or twice," he replied loftily, reaching out for the tiny device.

Once or twice was an understatement. He had discovered music much sooner than any of the other Autobots had, just as he had discovered the diversities and complexities of organic culture as a whole; had discovered it and delved into it with a curiosity and an interest that was unmatched, even when compared to Bumblebee's.

He had wasted hour upon hour poking and prodding and exploring the human world with the help of the internet, learning everything and anything he possibly could about the species with which they shared a planet, merely because their civilization was so intricate, their ways of life so new, that it had him hooked with absorption from the moment the Autobots had arrived. Most of this study had occurred during the dark and extraordinarily boring, dismal days he had been spent under Ratchet's overprotective care, but even after he had received a reluctant bill of health, he still used his off-time to learn and pioneer boldly where no Autobot had gone before. Some of these adventures led him to places he did not want to go ever again...But more often than not, his virtual escapades were successes.

What he considered his most successful one to date was his encounter with music, an aspect of organic life that did not seem to have an end. There were so many different types of music, so many different voices that sang different songs with different lyrics and different meanings, it was, at times, almost too much for his processor to handle. It was incredible, the amount of levels there were to the concept of music, how many components, how many bits and pieces. He felt as though he had barely scratched the surface; he had not even pushed his way through to dances and instruments yet, which were incredible microcosms of their own.

It was his newest interest, this universe of song and word, and it was his favorite. Even without its complexities, twists and turns, it would remain his favorite because of something rather simple.

He loved the sound of the human voice.

Its many pitches and tones, its ability to create emotion without words, by mere noise, the way it could vary between soft and hard, quiet and loud, within a second's time; he loved it all, everything about it. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and because it was, he enjoyed his organic voice more so than he had enjoyed the clicks, squeaks and overall bland quality of the Cybertronian language.

Once or twice was most _definitely_ an understatement.

Antonia dropped the device into his enormous hand and he absently thanked her, his attention already focused on the object he held carefully between his fingers. The tip of one claw pressed against the play button of what he determined was an iPod, and its screen brightened. A long list of artists appeared after another few clicks, and he began to scroll through them, every once in awhile coming across a name he recalled. Daft Punk, Dirty Vegas, Gorillaz, The Killers...

He didn't notice Antonia's close proximity until she reached out with her bronzed hand, so small compared to his own, and tapped the screen. "That's a good band," she stated quietly, startling him out of his silent inspection. He glanced first at her, wondering distractedly how he had failed to notice her presence, and then at the band she had mentioned.

"Huh." He clicked it, bringing up a list of the band's songs as he did so, and all the while trying to ignore the spark thrumming pleasantly within his chest cavity. _She's so close,_ an irritating inner voice exclaimed happily._ Isn't it nice? Isn't it lovely, her being _so_ close?_

_Hey, do you think you'll be going into overload soon, or what?_

He gave his head an oblivious shake, quick and uneasy, before focusing on Antonia again. "What's your favorite song?" he asked as lightly as he could manage.

Jazz relinquished the iPod when Antonia wordlessly gestured for it, peered over her shoulder as she scrolled down the short list, and then nimbly caught the headphone she tossed at him when she found what she was looking for. Although he inspected it curiously, he did nothing else with it.

At Antonia's questioning expression, he shrugged. "Ain't got an ear to put it in," he stated in response, flashing her sheepish grin.

Antonia frowned. "What are those silly things on your head, then?" she questioned, giving one of his antennas a tweak. Before he could voice a retort, _'Scuse me?, _she waved a hand dismissively. "Nevermind. Can you listen to it some other way?"

Jazz nodded. "Guess'o. Bee's not the only one with a radio. If you got a plug or somethin' I could use..." Just as he had caught the useless headphone, he caught another white wire, a small plug, as well, twirling it effortlessly around his pointed pinky finger as he did so.

Fiddling with his chest plate, his still-throbbing, traitorous spark hidden thankfully beneath it, Jazz made the right connections, plugging the wire and its attached iPod into his radio as quickly as he possibly could, and still desperately attempting to silence that twittering inner voice - _so close just have to reach and touch so close are you going to overload yet_ - to no avail.

With one last mental shove, the voice, whoever it belonged to, quieted down. At that same moment, the song Antonia had chosen began to beat from his speakers.

At first, there was nothing but soft, purely instrumental music, rising and falling in intermediate spikes, and as soon as it reached his audials, Jazz deflated.

Forgetting his squeaky mind-monster, he leaned against the wall and slid slowly down so that he was nearly lying with his back pressed to the metal panels of the floor. His legs crossed loosely, as did his arms, and he propped up his chin so that it rested on the rise of his chassis. His visor dulled to a dim glow, the Cybertronian equivalent of closing his eyes. This was the sort of reaction he experienced time and time again, as if the music drained him of his energy and left him loose and limp, casting a spell on him that could not be broken until the song was finished. It was not a reaction he succumbed to unwillingly, but thoroughly enjoyed, almost needed.

When the lyrics, somehow sounding both strong and watered-down, spilled themselves into a mixture of instruments he could not immediately identify, Jazz felt Antonia quietly and carefully rest her head against his chest. Expecting some sort of burning explosion to rock and roil his spark chamber, he braced himself for the overload his painfully-irritating inner voice continually nudged him about.

None came.

_She's a rainbow and she loves the peaceful life,_  
_Knows I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight._  
_There's a part of me in the chaos that's quiet,_  
_And there's a part of you that wants me to riot..._

In the place of an explosion, there was spreading, sweetly numbing warmth, beginning within the core of his spark and rolling through him in soft waves, twining through his circuits the way a vine twines its careful way up a tree. Feeling this warmth lap at the edge of his processor, Jazz reached out with one clawed hand and draped it, after a moment's hesitation, over Antonia's small body. In silent response, she gripped the tip of his pointed index finger and squeezed it in the same way she had when they'd first met, with her splayed out across the broken pavement and him standing sentry beside her, the only one of the Autobots sensitive enough to realize how badly she had needed someone to simply hold her hand and tell her that she would be all right.

_...Is it true that perfect love drives out all fear?_  
_The right to appear ridiculous is something I hold dear._  
_Oh, but a change of heart comes slow..._

_It's not a hill, it's a mountain,_  
_As you start out the climb._  
_Listen for me, I'll be shouting._  
_We're gonna make it all the way to the light,_

_But you know I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight._

They remained that way, curled together in the starlit darkness of the projected observatory, throughout the remainder of the song, suns, moons, stars, planets, worlds upon worlds steadily twirling around them in a scattered array of bright diamond chips, some labeled in strange dialect and others unexplored, unnamed. The lack of conversation, the silence resting between them, was not uncomfortable.

There was nothing that needed to be said.

_Shouting to the darkness,_  
_Squeeze out sparks of light._

_You know we're gonna go crazy,_  
_You know we'll go crazy,_  
_You know we'll go crazy if we don't go crazy tonight._

_

* * *

_

His heart was beating extremely fast, too fast; it was a wild animal determined to break out its cage, ripping and tearing at the rusted, trembling bars that held it back, screaming and wailing as it slammed its body against its confines, wide, liquid eyes red with a nasty mixture of rage and confusion.

Beating was too soft a word to describe his heart's pace at this point. It was _slamming_, and it was _painful_.

Sam gasped and tore frantically at his t-shirt, his brow glistening and beading with iridescent droplets of sweat as his fingers tugged and pulled clumsily, his barbaric heart still slamming _BUMPBUMPBUMPBUMP _within the captivity of his ribs even as he wiggled free of the shirt's thin fabric. He moaned in disgust at how wet it was, soaked with his frightened sweat, and proceeded to ball it up and throw it weakly across the small expanse of the bedroom. He forgot about it even before it reached the metal, square panels of the floor, too busy listening to the tribal drum of the muscle that appeared to be experiencing some sort of intense spasm.

Falling back against the coverlet of his tiny bed, Sam gripped the edges of his mattress with fingers that twitched and trembled, his eyes bulging from their sockets, heated blood rushing through his veins at speeds his body was not designed to handle. He retained the scream that was building itself up within his lungs by pressing his wet lips into a thin line and, after great difficulty, closed his tearing eyes, begging for some relief from this immense pain _BUMPBUMPBUMPBUMP _that had appeared out of nowhere.

As soon as the lids of his burning eyes dropped, memories of sounds, voices, places, faces exploded within his broiling mind like Hell's fireworks, bathed in every shade of red and orange imaginable.

- _Megatron rearing above him, his intricate expression pierced with an imposing, sharp smile as he reached toward him with greedy, clicking, clawed hands I SMELL YOU BOY HUMANS DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE GIVE ME THAT CUBE_ -

- _Optimus Prime collapsing to his knees, desperately attempting to fight Megatron, to keep him away from Sam, away from the Cube, trying to kill his sibling in an effort to protect a tiny planet and all its inhabitants One shall stand One shall fall THEY DESERVE TO CHOOSE FOR THEMSELVES In your debt Sam I am in your debt Sam_ -

- _Mikaela, beautiful Mikaela, his beautiful Mikaela, her hand grasping his, her face turning toward him, still somehow so perfect even when bathed in blood and dust, even when smelling of fright and city streets No matter what happens I am really glad I got into that car with you..._ -

- _Bumblebee, his first car, his guardian, his protector, his best friend, the friendly neighborhood alien, leaping for Barricade, sliding across the ground and catching him and saving him, saving him, always saving him, always fighting for him even when his legs had been blown clean away I would like to stay with the boy _-

Sam spasmed against the bed sheets, his legs and arms flailing and twitching with an enormous amount of kinetic energy that he seemed unable to contain, as every memory collapsed in on itself and exploded violently within his mind, exploded in a strange rainbow of voices and faces and feelings. His heart beating ever quicker _BUMPBUMPBUMPBUMP_, the scream escaping his lungs and climbing up his throat with the force of a derailed freight train, his fingertips digging into the his mattress and his lips becoming unhinged as he prepared for either a complete meltdown or death by explosion of the heart, Sam gasped and twisted into a sitting position, his mouth nothing but a gaping, black hole.

It was then, the moment his heart was ready leap free, the moment his scream was ready to do the same, something inside of him snapped. Or rather, it deflated, the way a popped balloon would do when it has had a run-in with an unexpected point.

The scream, the jack-hammer of his heart and the throb of his blood stopped no sooner than he could bat an eye; his muscles, all of which had been so incredibly and uncomfortably tight seconds before, loosened, as did his grip on the mattress. His flailing legs and arms dropped like rocks against the bed spread, the bones within them feeling no stronger than jelly. He didn't have the strength to lift the lids of eyes to any more than thin, tearing half-slits.

It was as though someone had flipped a switch, successfully powering him down when he had been on the verge of overloading.

Gasping up at the paneled ceiling and seeing nothing more than a blurred, hazy gray, Sam felt every surface of his body, drenched in a cold, frightened sweat, tremble. _What just happened?_ he thought, repeating the words in an unacknowledged whisper as the last throes of the power-down wracked him with another, harder shiver. _What just happened to me...?_

Letting his eyes slip closed once again, Sam Witwicky spiraled down, consciousness abandoning him to comatose, black exhaustion.


	36. Chapter XXXVI

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXVI_

The overall air of what he personally viewed as a poorly-chosen hideaway reminded him of that of a gravestone, the small cuts of square rock human beings used to mark the places where they had laid their dead. Its walls were made of blocks of cement, punctured here and there with crumbling holes that let through shafts of pale moonlight. The structure of its ceiling was created with thick, metal bars, diseased with blotches of rust, that came together at its pointed center; shingles were missing, having either collapsed in messy heaps or blown away by desert winds, and it was through these cracks that weak rays of light shone through as well, creating skewered oblongs of white against the littered floor. Despite these momentary patches, however, the place was incredibly dark. It was all too easy to imagine enormous, half-sparked train wrecks lurking within the impenetrable shadow, and the idea that these creatures were watching their progress with dead, yellowed optics kept him at stiff attention.

It had taken a great deal of time for Soundwave and Barricade to find Thomas. While the half-sparks gave no indication of their existence, as their weakened sparks had no signatures that could be sensed or followed, Soundwave had had the idea that Thomas did. He was, after all, infused with the All Spark. Antonia was easily the brightest light on the radar (though, unfortunately, constantly surrounded by the signatures of the Autobots) so he concluded that Thomas, being infected with a tainted strain of it, must radiate some sort of light as well.

Just as he had guessed that Thomas would appear on the radar, he had also guessed that it would take a lengthy amount of time to find him, especially since he had not materialized immediately, as the others had. The Autobots temporarily had their hands full, but they would soon clear the table of everything but finding and destroying Thomas, "soon" being within the next few days. Which was why, as soon as he had finished explaining his plan to Barricade, he had begun to search for him. They had little time to ally themselves with the cyborg, and even less time to work with him and his half-sparks to steal Antonia and Sam away from the Autobots. He had a feeling, however, that it could be done.

He had been right, in a way, about Thomas. He had certainly sensed him, but only when he was within distance of him. Thomas's signature had not popped up on the radar; it had gradually made itself known, and he had been unable to determine Thomas's exact location until this process was complete. Unlike Antonia's signature, incredibly bright and too strong to be dismissed as anything but the All Spark, Thomas's was stunted, introverted. It was the like light of a dying star collapsing in on itself.

After Thomas's signature had made its presence completely known, he had contacted Barricade and supplied him with the coordinates. The cruiser, since transformed into his black and white alternate mode, followed the coordinates without question. He himself had, with a great deal of discomfort, created a temporary alternate mode that he had shed immediately upon reaching their destination. He had no use for any disguise but his own.

What had met them at the coordinates was this, this enormous mausoleum that's original purposes had been abandoned, as had it, long ago. He believed it to be a poor choice only because it was painfully obvious that such large places, especially empty ones, would be the first succumbed to Autobot and governmental investigation. Only now, once inside, did Soundwave realize that it was most likely as temporary as his disguise had been. If he could guess, the only reason why Thomas had yet to attack the Autobots was because he was waiting for him and Barricade to arrive. To tell their story.

What intrigued him was how Thomas could have known.

Their careful footsteps were loud and hollow, resounding dolefully within the discomforting expanse of cement, causing clouds of dust to rise around their ankles in a thin mist. Every time they passed, side by side, beneath a weak ray cast by the moon, their contorted silhouettes cast themselves against the surrounding wall before intermingling with the darkness as they continued deeper into the dilapidated building.

It was incredibly slow going. Both Decepticons were feeling out-of-element and more than a little lost. This was not a territory they had explored before, both dealing with an unfamiliar planet as well as unfamiliar subjects, an organic cyborg and its half-sparked creations who could not be detected, who did not seem to be real at all. It was the impending discovery of the latter that, for lack of a better word, worried them more so than the discovery of Thomas did. These creatures were nowhere near as crushable as their altogether human creator was, and it was due to this glaring fact that Soundwave and Barricade focused their attention on searching for yellowed, mindless optics amidst the darkness, rather than the small form of Thomas Duke.

Because they were so fixed, so determined, on stumbling across the looming frameworks of the Locomoticons, neither noticed Thomas until they were nearly face to face with him, nor did they sense the way his spark signature grew denser, rather than brighter, as his presence became more pronounced. As though he was expanding.

"Hello."

Soundwave and Barricade drew their weapons at the hoarse, unexpected greeting that echoed throughout the enormous room, and obliviously crept closer together, their broad shoulders nearly touching, as six pairs of faded optics simultaneously shuttered open and bore into them with absent acknowledgment. How the Locomoticons had escaped their strong scrutiny, neither knew; it was almost as though the half-sparks had not existed until Thomas had spoken, and in the process of doing so, had drawn forth a sextuplet of shadows from the impenetrable darkness around him.

Recovering quickly from this unexpected surprise though nowhere near ready to drop his defensive position, Soundwave observed the odd scene laid out before him with grudging interest. Thomas sat against the wall at its center. Flanking either side of him were three half-sparks, varying in size and design. The one he recognized as Diesel, easily the largest of the six, sat beside Thomas on his immediate right. There was something undeniably powerful about Diesel, something along the lines of what he had sensed radiating from Optimus Prime, but unlike that of the valiant Autobot, it was just as venomous and diseased, as sickly and stunted and ugly, as Thomas's spark signature was.

The Locomoticon's power was not to be respected. It was to be avoided at all costs, as though it was contagious.

Dropping his visored gaze away from Diesel's silhouette, Soundwave focused his hidden optics on Thomas, the one they had been searching for for hours and who's alliance they needed, if only for the time being.

He may have once been a human being, but he was not one any longer.

The effects of Antonia's ill-fated attack had both transformed and destroyed Thomas, contorting him into a creature that looked as though it was suffering from some horrible form of radiation. Thomas's hair, what was left of it, was sharing the expanse of his head with a throbbing piece of machinery that was wedged over his left ear; the rest of it had fallen off, leaving bleeding, infected-looking lesions where it had been. The machinery stretched across his temple and his cheek, ending at his nose, covering his left eye and a little more than half of his mouth and forehead. The seam it had created with his skin, which was pulled tight and taut across what remained of his organic expression, glowed an infected red, the color of diseased blood. Bare bone, fractured sections of his skull and jaw, and dried, crumbling muscle tissue were visible in maroon-stained patches that decorated the right side of his face, where his skin had been burned away.

He was wearing a hideously stained business suit, the tie nothing more than loose tatters around his neck, his expensive leather loafers caked with blood and muck. While the rest of his body was not visible beneath it, his hands were, stiff with dried, rusted flecks of blood. His left hand was a mess of wires and circuits, a robotic arm that stretched from the tips of his fingers to the slope of his shoulder. It was so thick that it had burst through the sleeve of his suit.

The right, however, was still human, though it was rapidly decaying. Pale skin hung loosely from his fingers, and exposed bone poked its way through cuts and fading seams. It seemed especially bright against the darkness, the bone.

_He is in the process of dying,_ Soundwave realized absently. _Perhaps he is already dead._

The idea that whatever strain of the All Spark Antonia had transmitted to Thomas and Starscream had then tainted for his own amusement was using this being as its puppet did not strike a chord with him, and neither did the fact that Thomas was either dead or dying. It suited the situation; it made a sick amount of sense. A zombie had created zombies.

"Greetings, cyborg," Soundwave replied tonelessly.

Thomas's gaze, consisting of one red optic that flickered and one human eye rotting away in its bruised socket, landed on his cocked weapon. His lips curled with mindless amusement, revealing a gap-toothed, almost childish grin.

"Is this an attempted attack?" he leered. "How cute."

The Locomoticons rustled and fidgeted restlessly, their clumsy hands forming equally clumsy but heavy fists. The idea of an attack seemed to excite them. Except for the shuttering of their optics, it had been the first sign of consciousness they had provided.

Soundwave had to physically force himself not to step back, keeping his well-hidden wariness at bay. "It is nothing of the sort," he responded. "In fact, it is the opposite.

"We come seeking your help."

After a moment of uncomfortable, expectant silence, he continued. "We share a common enemy, and a common interest. You want the Spark Child. We want Sam Witwicky, the boy who ended Megatron's life. Barricade and I, however, cannot take on the Autobots by ourselves. It would be suicide. We are outnumbered.

"We request joining you."

Thomas continued to smile his bloody smile and nodded once, thoughtfully. The sound of the tendons in his neck creaking and bending resembled the snaps of small twigs being broken, crunched underfoot.

"Why should I provide you with my help?" the ex-Secretary of Defense asked. He gestured to the half-sparks seated around him with his skeletal right hand. "What could you possibly give me in return? I don't need your help. I have more than enough power at my disposal. Especially with Diesel here." He patted the enormous robot's thick, rusted armor companionably, to which Diesel replied with an absent clunk deep within his throat. "He was able to handle three of the Autobots all on his own! Even Optimus Prime, who would have been Diesel's first causality, had back-up not conveniently arrived."

Thomas shook his head sadly, his lips still twisted into a hideous grin. "I don't hold it against him, though," he continued loftily, turning his unbalanced gaze, his crazed, pained smile, on his closest creation. "You did your best. You did your best, and I am proud of you."

"Did my b-bessszt," Diesel parroted in a voice that hiccupped and bounced between a deep roar and a falsetto high, a whistle. "Brr-Prrrroud of mehee."

"Always," Thomas confirmed before turning to Soundwave. He had missed the second-long, uneasy glance that had passed between him and Barricade.

"There is nothing I want from you," the cyborg stated in a tone that he once, in another life, might have used on naughty children.

Soundwave stared at him. "We have the technology to change you back."

Thomas stiffened. There was a crystal-clear moment when what was left of his expression shone with a confounded mixture of hope and disbelief at this exotic idea, before it melted away to uncontrollable static once again. But that hope, however weak, flickered and fought this static feverishly, effectively turning his face into a battleground.

"T-that..._No_." He hissed and bore his bloodied teeth at Soundwave, his only eyebrow narrowed with outraged fury. "You're LYING!" he shrieked.

The Decepticon remained calm. His toneless voice was perfect for lying. It gave nothing away, provided no indication that he was a false prophet filling his listeners with equally false hope.

"I do not," he replied.

Thomas twitched, his fingers digging into the dirty, thin fabric of his soft pants. The thought that these two Decepticons had the ability to change him into the Thomas Richard Duke he had been was...mind blowing. Never mind the chaos and destruction he had caused since then (_I can't remember most of it can it be that bad what I did can it be that bad if I can't remember?_). Never mind the twisted creatures he had created in vengeance. All of it paled in comparison to his being human once again, something he had taken for granted, and his being able to feel emotions other than hopeless rage, incredible pain, and most of all, a growing uncaring, a numbing mindlessness that, after taking strong root within his diseased heart, was slowly spreading itself throughout the rest of his body.

He held his hands out in front him, slowly lifted them until they were level with his eyes, and stared between the two. The skin of his right, pale and ethereal, hung from the twigs of his fingers like the incensed bandages of an archaic mummy; sections of bone peeked from between the holes of his ruined surface, still so incredibly bright against the darkness of the abandoned building. His left hand was encased with a metal cast, hiding away whatever destruction it was causing to the rest of his arm beneath its wired, circuited secrets.

Both hands began to tremble weakly, and he allowed them to drop into his lap. His head bowed forward, as though its weight was something he could no longer hold up on his own.

There was nothing else, _nothing_, that he wanted more than to be himself again, who he used to be, and that flickering, persistent hope battered the walls of his mind with what felt like a sledge hammer, pounded against the defensives of his heart.

_I believe in you, Thomas._ Johnathon Keller's weary voice surfaced from the chaotic static of his mind, a single, white light against the black, an S.O.S sent by the ghost his former life because even _that _Thomas, that old, dependable Thomas, could see that the new Thomas was dying in more ways than one. _I believe that you can make the right choices, can make me proud of my decision! You have seen what you're capable of! All those plans you provided me with...all those intricate, well thought-out details...You can do this. Don't believe anyone who says otherwise. Remember who you are when confronted with doubt._

_I believe that you can do this, and my opinion is the only one that should matter._

Thomas fidgeted, frowned. He could stop this, right now. He could reject Soundwave's offer, which he knew was too good to be true. He could destroy these two Decepticons; as he had told them, he had more than enough manpower to spare. He could destroy what was left of the Autobots' earthbound adversaries, and then, he could wait, sit and wait for his radioactive strain of the All Spark's power to finish its work on him and kill him, which could not be long from now. The Locomoticons would sit here as well, they listened to no one but him, and when the Autobots and their human allies discovered them, there would be nothing left of him but a rotted skeleton guarded by lifeless, mindless half-sparks, the floor beneath their feet decorated with the shattered remains of the Decepticons. His chosen ultimatum, his surrender.

_Remember who you are, Thomas._

He could reach redemption; he could end his bloodbath and die a man who had, against all odds, done what was best in his situation.

He could...

- _Antonia's face, her leering, destructive expression, as she leaned forward and shoved him, exposing him to a disease that would turn him into a monster, a horrible twisted monster who had rained blood and gore and had laughed while doing so. Optimus Prime's superior, bright optics as he effortlessly destroyed his spiraling career, as he had observed him with contempt that was unmatched. "I think you should leave," he had ordered, surrounded by a combined group of humans and Autobots, each of them hating his guts, each of them wishing he was dead, he could feel it, their hatred, he could feel it and O God how it had _burned _because it was then that he had decided that he hated them too all of them every last one just as much as he hated those men in the suits who stared without seeing anything but an immature failure destined to fail destined for _ruin -

...But he did not think he would.

The S.O.S fizzled, and failed.

Thomas slowly lifted his head, his single red optic bright and sickly. His lips twisted into a bloodied, gap-toothed smile born of every doubt and every ounce of pain he had ever received, a devil's smile, a jack-o-lantern's smile leaking pulpy juice from its trembling corners.

"All right, Soundwave, Barricade." His organic eye was nothing but a bruised socket draped in shadow as it bore into them. "All right. I accept your offer. Our combined efforts against the Autobots in exchange for you changing me back to what I was. _Exactly _as I was."

"Exactly," Soundwave confirmed tonelessly. After a moment of prolonged silence, he nodded at Thomas. "...Thank you, cyborg," he said stiffly.

Thomas's smile disappeared as his lips pursed, and there was a small popping noise as he spat a tiny, bloody tooth in the Decepticon's direction. It clicked and bounced against the littered floor before coming to a stop at their feet, glittering brightly. His smile was back in place when Soundwave lifted his gaze away from the small, organic stone that lay in front of him.

He took that as their cue to leave.

He could feel Thomas's empty gaze on their backs as he and Barricade turned toward the exit, their pointed feet crunching through the dust and muck that layered the crumbling cement floor. Even when they finally reached the abandoned, moonlit scene outside, he could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. He could not stand the silence.

He glanced over his shoulder at Barricade, who had not spoken a single word during their entire exchange with Thomas. "Barricade, what - "

Soundwave then watched as the cruiser leaned heavily against the dusty wall and vomited up bright pink energon, his life essence splattering and staining the shadowed bricks as well as himself, dribbling down his intricate face and pooling around him in a puddle. When he noticed Soundwave's quiet observation, Barricade growled, his four optics narrowed with bitter defense, his sharp, energon-stained dentals bared, daring him to say something, _anything_, about his being weak.

Soundwave, however, merely shifted his visored gaze to the moon, trying to ignore the sound of Barricade's second upheaval of bile. He said nothing because he did not blame Barricade for his reaction.

The smell of human decay had been unbearable.


	37. Chapter XXXVII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXVII_

"...'Bee?" She lifted her hand to rest on the enormous door frame and, completely oblivious to the way her fingers gripped it, took a cautious step out of the room. "Can I talk to you?"

Bumblebee glanced over his shoulder, slowing to halt as soon as he heard Mikaela's voice. His optics lit up at the sight of his charge and, not yet noticing her intense expression, there was a soft click as he began to play a song on his radio:

_Pretty woman, walkin' down the street,_  
_Pretty woman, the kind I'd like to meet,_  
_Pretty woman, I don't believe you, it must be true,_  
_No one could look as good as you..._

His doorwings wilted, the song collapsing into static, when he saw that she did nothing more than respond to him with a small smile. "I am sorry," he said quietly, turning to face her completely. "Of course you may talk to me."

He paused, scrutinizing her pose and the features of her face intently. "Is something wrong?"

"Maybe." She left the doorway to lean against the wall across from where he stood. With her arms crossed protectively over her chest, she looked as though she was trying to hold herself together, and as she lifted her head to stare at him, his spark ached from the worry he saw so evident in her eyes, in her posture.

"Do you think," she began, "that Sam's been acting a little weird?"

Bumblebee gave a start. _So I am not the only one who has noticed._

He had thought that Sam had been acting a little out of the ordinary for the past two weeks, more fidgety and strange than was usual for him. The weirdness had begun two days or so after Antonia and the others had been discovered, and as hard as he wracked his processor, he could discover no reason for it.

He had caught Sam pacing and mumbling to himself on more than one occasion, and had overheard Tyler's playful teasing about how Sam had been thrashing and moaning in his sleep. _"It sounds like you're being tortured or something, dude,"_ Tyler had said, laughing. _"If I had any idea that you were so damn noisy at night, I think I would have chosen to bed in the hallway."_ Sam too had laughed, but it hadn't sounded normal. It had sounded a little hysterical, a little desperate.

There was something, however, that was weirder than everything else Bumblebee had witnessed and stored away for further analysis over the course of the last fourteen days, and if it was somehow connected to the way Sam was acting, he did not know how. He only knew that it worried him more so than everything else combined.

Sam _glowed_.

Not everything and not all at once, but still, he glowed. Sometimes it would be the roots of his hair, other times it would be the outlines of his fingernails or the life and love lines of his palms. More recently, it was his irises; instead of the warm brown Bumblebee had grown accustomed to seeing, they would be bright, ice blue.

Because these strange events lasted seconds at a time, only as long as Sam stayed still, Bumblebee was unsure of whether or not he was actually seeing anything out of ordinary. With the nervous way Sam had been acting, he hadn't wanted to say anything that would give further cause to his mumbling and his pacing and his jumping at shadows that didn't seem to exist to anyone but him.

But since Mikaela had noticed it too, he wondered if it was something more serious than he wanted to think. Something, as a guardian, he should have questioned Sam about earlier.

His processor nearly overloading with possibilities, Bumblebee knelt before his charge so that he was more or less eye level with her. "Yes, I have noticed that Sam is acting a little stranger than usual," he replied; it was a heroic effort, keeping his tone so calm, so collected. "Why don't you tell me what you've noticed, and we will compare it to what I have seen. All right?"

Mikaela nodded, sighing deeply before she began. "It's, you know, it's sort of hard to tell when Sam's acting weird because he's such a twitchy freak to begin with, he's always stumbling over his words and fidgeting and...and just being _Sam_." She didn't seem to notice the way her voice hitched or how her carefully made-up eyes glistened with tears, and although Bumblebee noticed, he said nothing. "But...it seems like he's been pacing a lot more than usual. Mumbling to himself. I mean, I've even heard him _arguing _with himself a few times. Something about...about telling someone something.

"I'm worried that that someone is me."

Her eyebrows furrowed together as she stared up at the Autobot, her gaze dark and accusing. "Maybe he's getting tired of...of _me_, of our relationship, of being trapped in the base all day long. Since Antonia, Zach and Tyler came here, I think he's realized how much he's missing, being forced to stay away from school and from...from _normal _life because he's a danger to everyone else. Maybe he wants to be a real kid again."

She bowed her head, her voice becoming a whisper. "I know I do."

Despite the fact that something inside of him gave way beneath this confession, Bumblebee kept his expression blank. It was a low punch, hearing her say that she disliked and had grown tired of the life she was currently leading as an Autobot charge, and it was somehow worse to think that Sam felt the same way. It was perfectly understandable that such younglings would not want to be confined in this way; it was perfectly understandable that _no one_ in their right mind would want to be subjected to day after day of playing prisoner, even if it was for their own safety and for the safety of others. But, in all honesty, the thought hadn't even crossed Bumblebee's mind. Hearing it when he hadn't even dreamed of it himself made it all the worse.

He should have been prepared for the day when he would hear something like this, a cry to be let go of. He just hadn't expected it to come so quickly.

"I'm sorry, 'Bee," Mikaela whispered as her guardian dropped his optics to the floor. She reached out, the tips of her fingers brushing against the side of his face. "I love you so much, you know that? You've saved my life, you've protected me and talked to me and listened to me...loved me back...but I miss who I was before. I miss my friends, I miss my Dad, I miss going where I want to without being escorted there, and I even miss school. I miss _my _life." Pressing her nose to the pointed tip of his own, Mikaela sighed and closed her eyes. "Don't you think it's okay for me to miss those things?"

_No,_ he wanted to say, pulling away from her, hurting her in the same way she was hurting him. _No, I don't. Because what about _me_? What about what _I_ think? What _I_ want? Where would _I_ fit into your old life?_

But Bumblebee said nothing. Instead, he nodded and let her continue to hold him.

Mikaela's eyes opened, a soft, a normal, blue contrast against the shadows of her face.

_...Blue..._

"It's okay for Sam to miss those things too, isn't it, 'Bee?"

_- Bright blue shining blue Sam glows blue SAM GLOWS BLUE -_

"Mikaela." Bumblebee unexpectedly pulled away from her, made her stumble as she lost her footing. The Autobot's optics bore into his charge. "Have you seen Sam glow?"

A look of surprise washed over her face, her arms dropping to her sides. She grasped for words for a moment, her wide eyes stop-starting as she searched Bumblebee's expression.

Finally, she ran a trembling hand through her hair. "I thought I was going crazy," she whispered so softly that he was barely able to hear her, talking more to herself than she was to him.

Bumblebee gently hooked her chin with the tip of his finger, lifting her head until their gazes met. Though his spark still ached and throbbed, not for Sam's current condition but for what Mikaela's confession had brought to his attention, he ignored his pain as best as he could, just as he always did, just as he would continue to do. Instead, he remembered who he loved the most and forgot everything else.

"Where is Sam?"

* * *

"There you are, youngling."

Telebot blinked once, slowly, as Ratchet pushed the door to his square chassis shut. He stopped swinging his short legs and glanced up at the Autobot medic questioningly.

Ratchet smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may go back to Antonia now."

He had barely finished his sentence before the small transformer had hefted himself up from the berth's edge and toddled as fast as he possibly could across its shiny top. Upon reaching the opposite side, he held out his hands for Antonia, effectively interrupting her conversation with Zachary by collapsing into her lap.

Antonia let out a delighted coo, wrapping her arms tightly around Telebot. "Aw!" she giggled, rubbing her nose against his in an Eskimo kiss; Telebot's optics shuttered in pleasure. "You're the most adorable baby boy-bot this side of the Milky Way, did you know that?"

The thrum of a purr that vibrated within his stocky chest suggested that yes, Telebot _did _know.

Sitting spread-eagled beside Antonia, Zachary smiled. The scene playing out before him was one that had repeated itself almost hourly since their first day at the Autobot base, and despite the fact that Antonia could no longer be seen without her tiny creation, whether he was held against her chest or following dutifully behind her like a chubby little shadow, the two couldn't seem to be spend enough time with one another. Mikaela had shared a story on a morning the week before in which she, upon awakening, had nearly screamed with surprise at the sight of Telebot patiently waiting for Antonia to wake up, seated at the foot of her bed, his green optics the only light visible in the room. And all of them, Autobots and humans alike, had been subjected to Telebot's infamous wails when Antonia spent so long as five minutes in the shower. The tiny sparkling would seat himself outside of her door, bang on it with his fists and cry miserably until she was decent enough for him to come in. Ironhide had once made the horrible mistake of trying to silence Telebot with an irritated roar and had been shot in the optic with a tiny, BB-like gun no one had known that Telebot had had. Though he would never say so out loud, it was one of the funniest things Zach had ever seen.

His smile growing a few inches wider at the memory, he glanced away from Antonia and Telebot and instead, looked to Tyler. The senior was surprisingly quiet, staring intently at Telebot with his blond eyebrows furrowed in thought.

Zach frowned. "Ty? You all right?"

Tyler blinked, as though rerouted back to the present by the sound of Zachary's voice. He didn't give any sort of verbal response, but as a wicked grin spread across his face, Zach stonily silenced the groan rising up his throat. Tyler, oblivious to the _Whatever-You're-Going-To-Say-DON'T_ glare he was receiving, swiveled around toward Ratchet.

"Hey Doc-Bot?" he called out. "Can I ask you a question?"

Ratchet, who was gradually growing immune to the seemingly-infinite chain of stupid questions Tyler had asked since his arrival, glanced wearily at him from over his shoulder. "If I say no," Ratchet grumbled, "will it stop you?"

Tyler's expression became thoughtful. He shrugged his shoulders. "Probably not. I'll just keep asking you until you answer it. Even if you don't, I'll ask Optimus. He's smart too." He paused. "It isn't a _stupid _question."

"Considering I don't seem to have a choice in the matter, and knowing that you will in fact interrupt whatever Optimus Prime is currently doing, no matter how important, to ask a question, go ahead." He waved a hand. "Ask away."

Tyler's expression struggled between incredible seriousness and goofy immaturity, and although he attempted to hide both beneath a veil of innocence, he failed to do so.

"How do two Transfomers have a baby?" he asked.

Ratchet stiffened, carefully placing the tools he had used during Telebot's check-up on the table top of his work desk instead of dropping them there. Tyler's question wasn't a complete surprise, though it was one that Ratchet hadn't expected him to ask; Zachary or Antonia, perhaps, but not Tyler. Zachary, because he had grown up with a pair of doctors as parents, and Antonia, because not only was Telebot her creation, but she was also the first one to know about the existence of femmes.

The more he thought about it, however, the more he realized what had probably happened. Zach and Antonia had thought about this sort of thing, but hadn't known how to ask about it. Tyler was the only one of the three who just didn't have any shame when it came to such personal information, and it was because of his lack of restraint that Ratchet was going to teach Alien Sex 101 to a group of human teenagers.

_Oh, how I love my job._

Pinching the soft place between his optics, Ratchet turned around to face Tyler, Zachary and Antonia, feeling the weight of their gazes searching him curiously. Only Telebot was oblivious to what was happening. He sat in Antonia's lap with his head leaning back against her chest, entertaining himself with taking her hands in his and clapping them together.

Ratchet sighed. "This is going to take quite a while to explain." He glanced at Tyler, one optic ridge raised. "Are you capable of sitting still for a prolonged period of time?"

"I guess we'll see." He flashed him a playful smirk. "Just don't be boring, Doc."

"I'll try my very hardest," Ratchet replied dryly. The Autobot proceeded to lower himself until he was seated on the berth's edge. Zach slid over its silver top until he was beside him, and he was immediately followed by Tyler and Antonia, Telebot still secured in her lap.

When they were situated comfortably, he began, choosing his words carefully and using them like stepping stones.

"I am sure, by now, you have deduced that Cybertronians do not create children in the same way human beings do. In fact, unlike your species, we can reproduce two different ways, one of which you have already been exposed to: the All Spark. The All Spark is capable of giving life, taking away life, and restoring it, healing it. However, the All Spark wasn't always available." Ratchet's bright gaze dropped so that he stared at his hands instead of their upturned faces. "There have been other times throughout our history that it has been fought over, specifically because it is capable of sparking multiple Cybertronians at once. Yet, even when it _was_ available, there were many who chose a more intimate path, many who wanted to create a sparkling, combine the very best of themselves with the very best of someone else. Their sparkmate."

Ratchet glanced up again. "You have heard of the term 'soulmate'?"

Zachary, Tyler and Antonia nodded their heads in silent unison.

"A sparkmate...it is nearly the equivalent of that, but..." He struggled for the right words, the right description. "It is _stronger_. So much stronger. A bond that cannot be broken, a bond that is literally felt. It is not lust, it is not a love that can fade. It is as though...as though you are one piece of a puzzle, and your sparkmate is the only other piece that fits you. You are not whole, you are not complete, until you find that piece." He scrutinized them individually. "Do you understand what I am saying? How...How, perhaps, it is not something...it is not something experienced by humans?"

Once again, they nodded. Their attention was somehow more rapt than before, and though it made him a little self-conscious, Ratchet continued.

"Once the sparkmate is discovered, that is when one is capable of creating a sparkling. Only when the puzzle piece fits, only when their spark is compatible with your own, can you bond."

Tyler raised his blond eyebrows in question. "_Bond_?"

The medic nodded, oblivious to Tyler's tone. He mistook it, unfortunately, for confusion. "It is quite literally bonding, yes. Cybertronians share their sparks with one another, a mech and femme, the equivalent to your male and female. The femme keeps the small spark that is born out of the bond within her chassis until a suitable protoform is created to hold it. She then transfers it to the protoform chosen.

"The sparkling will develop and grow according to its surroundings and upbringing, just as a human baby does. As it grows, however, its protoform will need to be modified and upgraded until its spark has a comfortably-sized chassis. When it does, it no longer needs to be upgraded. That is also the point at which a Cybertronian can start spark-bonding.

"One last thing I forgot to mention." He nodded toward Telebot, who had stopped playing with Antonia's hands and had, instead, fallen into a light doze. "Mech sparks are darker shades of colors and are generally larger than femme sparks, which tend to be more pastel. You were correct in thinking of Telebot as a male, Antonia: his spark is dark green."

Antonia, her eyes wide with surprise, blinked down at Telebot. "Is that why his optics are green, too?" she asked.

"Yes. Before a Cybertronian forms their allegiance," Ratchet explained, "their optics are the color of their spark. That is also why any optic color that is not blue or red belongs to a Neutral."

"Huh," was all Antonia replied with, too preoccupied with poking Telebot's shuttered optics until he grew annoyed with her and opened them.

Beside her, Tyler's lips twitched. "_Bond_?" he repeated.

Ratchet frowned, still misunderstanding Tyler's tone and expression. Before he could ask what was still confusing to him, however, Zachary caught his attention.

"Wait a second, slow down and back up," he said. "Where, exactly, _are _all your femmes?"

Ratchet's frown became bitter. "Do you not remember the earlier explanation, Zachary?" he asked quietly. "The Decepticons massacred, nearly destroyed, the entire femme population." Before he could ask why, Ratchet stopped him, his tone almost cold. "If a femme discovered she was attracted to a Decepticon when most femmes were either Autobot or neutral, how do you think she would react? The Decepticons are ruthless, vicious beings who were notorious for beating, raping and almost always killing the lovers who were foolish enough to bond with them. That is not a desirable fate.

"If a femme found out that her sparkmate was a Decepticon," he continued, "more often than not, she would stay away. She would try to escape in any way possible, either by settling with a sparkmate that was not as compatible with her or ignoring her attraction completely. The Decepticons, whatever they may be, were not ignorant of what was happening. They knew exactly why their numbers were not increasing, and they punished the femmes, every single one they could find, for it.

"They believed that if they could not have the femmes, they did not deserve to exist; that if they could not mate, could not love, then neither could we."

If Zach was offended by his guardian's unexpected coldness, he did not show it. His expression, marred with scars that had just begun to heal, was soft with compassion, his eyes a calm emerald behind the lenses of his glasses. "Did _you_ have a sparkmate, Ratchet?" he asked softly.

Ratchet looked away. "If I did," he replied ruefully, "I never found her."

Zach frowned, searching the medic uneasily before looking away as well, choosing instead to stare down at his hanging feet. Antonia bit her bottom lip, resting her chin against the slope of Telebot's helmet, tugging the small sparkling closer to her than he already was.

The silence in the room was so intense, so uncomfortable, that each of them, both the charges and the Cybertronians, jumped with surprise when it was interrupted by a moan.

An extremely sexual moan.

"Oooh, _baby_," Tyler breathed, his voice deep and lusting. "Ooh my God, my spark is on _fire _right now."

Ratchet, his optics wide with shock, looked up just in time to see Tyler nuzzle up to Antonia with his shirt yanked over his head, revealing his muscled chest. His hands rubbing the expanse of his tight stomach lustily, he pressed against the younger girl, his abdomen snuggled between her shoulder blades.

"Hey!" Antonia cried out as Tyler lost his balance, collapsing on top of her with Telebot squished uncomfortably beneath them. The small sparkling let out an irritated wail, sliding himself away from the two teenagers, both of whom had begun to giggle madly.

"Yo, baby," Tyler whispered breathlessly, his lips moving beneath the fabric of his shirt and his nose nearly brushing Antonia's; Antonia pressed a hand against his cheek as she tried and failed to push him away, laughing so hard that her eyes had begun to tear. "Wanna _bond _with me?"

Before she was able reply with anything else but an exaggerated, husky chuckle as she pulled her own shirt over her, revealing the white tee underneath, Tyler let out a yelp as something smacked him in the head.

"What the _shit_?" he yelped, raising his free hand in surrender.

Twisting around at the waist, he glanced up to see Telebot standing over him, his small fists raised to beat at him in surprising fury, his small green optics sparking. "ALERT, ALERT!" A black-and-white image of an obscure, vintage robotic character played across Telebot's screen as the tiny transformers climbed atop Tyler's back, yanking and pulling at his shirt and short, blond hair. "ALERT, ALERT, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"

"Sweet _Jaysus_!" Tyler cried, swatting at Telebot. He tottered dramatically before tumbling off of Antonia and onto the berth beside her with an audible thump, his legs and arms flailing wildly. His hands gripping fistfuls of Tyler's clothing, Telebot refused to let go, even when Antonia, still laughing breathlessly, tried to pull him away by locking her arms around his chassis.

"Telebot!" she squealed, slipping and sliding clumsily across the medical berth, her socked feet unable to find any steady purchase. "Telebot, stop! He was only joking! He was only - "

The enormous slam Ratchet's fist created as it made contact with the metal berth caused everyone to become still and silent. Zachary, who had been staring at the confusing scene with his mouth agape, stared over his shoulder with wide eyes at the Autobot medic, who had stalked away from them, his shoulders trembling and his back turned their way.

Telebot glared at Tyler, giving him a quiet slap upside the head and gesturing wildly as if to say _"What's wrong with you?"_ Tyler winced, reaching across Antonia to grab at the sparkling with an ill-tempered growl, but he lithely ducked out of the way. Before Tyler could lunge at him again, Antonia gave them both a shove.

"Look," she whispered, her expression slack with surprise.

Ratchet, holding his sides, the tremble that had begun in his shoulders wracking the rest of his enormous body, was _laughing_.

It was the kind of silent, gut-wrenching laughter that has the effect of leaving one breathless. Though he had no need to breath, he had still been rendered silent with the effort it was taking him to laugh aloud, so he stood there, hugging himself around the middle with his optics shuttered and his mouth open and stretched into a huge smile.

When his laughter finally arrived, it was a deep, pleasant roar, starting from the very center of him and building as it made its way up through to his mouth.

Upon realizing that he wasn't going to receive a wrench to the head, Tyler was the first to let loose his own laughter, beginning with some small giggles that gradually increased and grew into hearty guffaws. They shook and quaked his body in the same way Ratchet's did, and watching him, it didn't take long for Zach, Antonia and Telebot to succumb to laughter as well.

Amidst all of the cackles and snickers, the five failed to notice who was standing in the door way.

Seeing Antonia and Tyler, their shirts still yanked over their heads, collapsed in a writhing pile with Zach and Telebot, and Ratchet leaning against the wall, hugging himself in what appeared to be desperation, Optimus Prime, his optics wide, inched away from bay's open entrance.

"I will...be leaving now," he stated slowly, his unexpected voice causing their heads to jerk up in surprise. His hands were held up as if in surrender. "...I do not think I want to know what has been going on."

Shaking his head in confusion, the Autobot leader made his way down the hall. But as the laughter resumed, louder than it was before, he did not try to hide his amused smile.

_Humans are strange._

_

* * *

_

For the first time in his adult life, William Lennox felt the urge to squeal.

"These things," he whispered reverently, his eyes sparkling with barely suppressed tears, "are _beastly_."

Ironhide's gruff, expectant expression relaxed into a nervous smile as he watched his charge reach out and carefully stroke the enormous barrel of the weapon that lay before him, as though it was something precious. "I tried to make them as...as _beastly _as possible," the Autobot said, struggling with the strange word Will had used to describe the alien firearm. _Is to be beastly a good thing?_ he thought to himself, his optics searching the soldier's strong features earnestly.

He certainly hoped so. He had been working on the collection of human-sized, Cybertronian-variation weaponry since the night Optimus Prime had officially instituted a team consolidated of select members from both species nearly two weeks prior. Though he did not yet know whether or not his experiments could wound whatever robotic menace the much smaller, much softer earthlings would be up against, as no Autobot had yet stepped up to the plate to act as a test subject, he was proud of what he had accomplished thus far. If his own charge did not approve of what he had managed to create, it would be a good two weeks wasted and worse, an incredible blow to his ego.

However, what remained of his worry disappeared when Grayson Leigh and Robert Epps, both of whom had been hovering at Will's shoulders, stepped forward and let out mingled cries of astonishment as they reached for the equipment spread out across the metal table. Grayson hefted a short, stocky plasma cannon in his gloved hands, a smile spreading slowly across his face as he tested its weight; Robert toyed carefully with a double-barreled laser, a low whistle escaping from between his lips.

"Damn, man!" He tore his gaze away from the gun for a moment to glance up at Ironhide, his eyebrows raised in approval. "You been busy!"

Ironhide's smile became more self-assured, steadier; he nodded. "Yes. I have."

"How many were you able to make?" Will asked. He had since abandoned his careful stroking, choosing to hold the weapon across his chest with one hand resting on its stock, his pointer finger not quite compressing its trigger. The other hand cupped its barrel.

Ironhide eyed Will's trigger finger warily, though he knew better than to request that he be careful. "I have made thirty two so far, sixteen heavy and sixteen light." When he was met with three silent, bug-eyed expressions of shock, he fidgeted uneasily. "Is that not enough?"

"Not enough?" Will repeated breathlessly, his sentence punctuated with a chuckle. "No, no, that's plenty, but..._Hell_, I didn't know you could whip up so much within such a short amount of time! Did you do all of it on your own?"

The Autobot continued to fidget, feeling uncharacteristically flattered upon hearing the awe and respect in his charge's tone. "Yes. Ratchet, Hound and Optimus offered to help me numerous times, but..." He shrugged. "I did not need it."

"Wow," Grayson said hollowly, his wide eyes still roving the intricate weapon he held between his hands. The young man's short statement effectively summed up what each of the three soldiers were thinking: _Wow_.

The flattery he was experiencing beginning to cause him discomfort, Ironhide gave a shake of his head in an attempt to change the subject. "Unfortunately, I have not yet been able to test any of these weapons," he said, air billowing through his intakes in a sigh. "We have no willing..."

"Guinea pigs?" Robert suggested thoughtfully.

"Yes." The weapon's specialist resettled his features into his typical frown. "I would offer myself as one, but as I am the only Autobot who knows how to work this equipment, I need to teach you how to use it myself. It must be someone else who acts as a test subject."

"Eh. We can figure it out." Carefully placing the experiment he had been holding back onto the metal table top, Will tugged off his gloves and slipped them into his pocket. "Right now, let's round up everyone, Autobots and humans, and get their asses in here. With all of us in one spot, we'll be able to scare up a guinea pig and afterward, get some target practice in. Considering the fact that we're completely in the dark about where Thomas and the other Decepticons are and what they're doing, I think it would be best if - "

"Wait." Ironhide blinked, honestly wondering whether he had heard Will correctly. "Did you just say that the _other _charges are going to learn how to use these weapons as well?"

"Yeah, I did." The expression of Will's face was one that appeared to question the Autobot's sanity; he observed Ironhide with one skeptical eyebrow raised. "We're all in danger right now, bud. Who's to say that there won't be a time in the future when we, and this includes Antonia, Zach, Tyler, Sam, Mikaela and Pilar, are left without our guardians to protect us? I want to give all of us at least a fighting chance at surviving in case, God forbid it, a human being is up against a Locomoticon, a Decepticon, or Thomas himself without an Autobot to help. Especially since tracking down Mr. Duke hasn't exactly panned out as planned."

"I agree with you, Will, I do," Ironhide replied swiftly, feeling Grayson's penetrating gaze bore into him, as though trying to force the words of the unexpected speech he had given two weeks prior into his processor. "I just..."

"Just what?" both Will and Grayson asked simultaneously. Though Will sounded merely curious, Grayson's tone was almost accusing.

Ironhide shot the younger soldier a sidelong glare, one that was returned with enough heat to surprise him, before he continued. "If you feel as though we have no other choice than to allow younglings to arm themselves with alien weaponry when a majority of them have not even learned how to use basic human firearms, then I will have trust your judgment," the weapon's specialist stated slowly. "But I assure you, whatever 'practice' you have in mind will be a messy and dangerous one."

"I _do_ feel as though we have no other choice," Will replied. "And as for practice, I think you're over-reacting. All of them know how important their own safety is; I mean, I don't think any of us want to die. They'll take this seriously, and because they have no other option, they'll learn."

Will shrugged his shoulders and gave Ironhide a charming, easy-going smile. "What could possibly go wrong?"


	38. Chapter XXXVIII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXVIII_

Sam ( _-you are a horrible liar Samuel James Witwicky-_ ) Witwicky came to an abrupt stop, the soles of his sneakers slapping loudly against the sleek, metallic surface beneath his feet. Although he wasn't aware that he was doing so, he stiffened his shoulders, tightened his hands into trembling fists, and cocked his head a fraction of an inch to the right as he sucked in a deep breath, and then released it. Despite the fact that he knew what was happening, he blinked once, slowly and thoughtfully, to be sure. Each time it had happened in the past, he had done the same thing, and although the result had always been identical to that of the one before it, he couldn't help but hope. At this point in time, hope was all that he had.

As soon as he opened his eyes, the slow thoughtfulness he forced himself to act with during such occasions making it seem as though it was hours before he could see completely once again, he realized that it _was_, in fact, happening, and as careful as was possible for him, Sam turned around and walked, one foot in front of the other, until he reached the wall. With each step he took, another piece of reality slipped away, fading to an ugly, black emptiness that rolled and thundered like the waves of an ocean of ink. He could have these disruptive mental episodes for the rest of his life, day in and day out, but thousands upon thousands could not nor would ever change the way he felt about that ocean. He _abhorred_ it. He abhorred the slickness and slithering of its motions and movements, the way it reminded him of oil, but sentient and inherently evil; he abhorred the fact that it lacked a smell, a specific texture, anything that could help him, with his mere human senses, define what it was and therefore have a chance to end it. Most of all, he abhorred the way it struck within him a fear that he could only associate with Megatron, who, although dead and rusting at the bottom of the world's deepest, darkest ocean, still hunted for him in the nightmares he had experienced since the Decepticon leader had been ended the year before.

He reached the wall, the tips of his fingers blindly brushing its length, as soon as the last piece of reality drifted away into obsidian. There was a momentary flash, and then bright blue static, eager and random, zipped from one corner of his vision to another, leaping into the emptiness and disappearing from sight only to reappear from a different angle.

Beneath the hoarse hiss of the static came a collective rumble of voices: fragments of sentences, the mid-pitch of someone's scream, a jagged piece of another's conversation. When it had happened the first time, it had frightened him beyond his ability to describe. _Where are these voices coming from?_ he had thought in a panic; he remembered how hard his heart had been pounding, how it had seemed he was able to feel the frantic beat of it caught within the passage of his constricted throat. _Whose are they?_ That, however, had been an incredibly long two weeks ago. It was clear to him now, after nearly fourteen episodes of what he had termed his "mental disturbances", which faces belonged to the voices he was hearing screaming, shouting, calling, laughing, and chattering inside of his head.

Mikaela. Bumblebee. Antonia, Pilar, Tyler, Zach. William Lennox, Simmons. Ratchet. Ironhide. Jazz. Optimus Prime.

There was an instance, whether it was minuscule or minutes long, that each charge and Autobot spoke within his head. There were some that stood out more so than others, some whose voices he heard consistently, as though they had been programmed to, or were stuck on, repeat. But they were not the voices he would have expected to hear. It was not Mikaela, nor was it Bumblebee, who he heard the most.

It was Antonia. It was Tyler. It was Optimus Prime.

These three voices he heard were, more often than not, associated with memories, and the memories were always the same for each one. That fact struck a chord with him. He didn't know why, not yet, but it did, and it made him wary. It made him wary of what such a thing could mean.

The memory he had of Antonia was of when he had first met her. She had fallen and cracked her head against the pavement in her attempt to escape Scorponok, and while Pilar, Tyler and Zach had been able to scramble to their feet, she had lain sprawled across the ground, the tattered remnants of her long-sleeved shirt exposing the All Spark shards embedded in her skin. Ratchet had asked him to scoop her up and he had, being careful even without Mikaela instructing him to be, watching Antonia's head loll lazily against his shoulder as he hefted her close to his chest. The moment he had touched her, he had experienced something he could only describe as a shock: a series of flashes exploded within his mind like the afterimages of lightning strikes, one after the other, before dying away just as quickly as they had arrived. It had only been a moment, one of disorientation that he had associated with the unexpected battle and had then dismissed. What stuck out in his mind, besides that strange shock he had received, was image of the cool blue glow of the All Spark shards contrasted against the soft caramel of Antonia's skin. How bright they had been, each shard with its own stark shape; how bright, with their stolen life.

The memory that followed his one of Antonia was of Tyler Eller, or rather of Tyler Eller's amusing collection of voices. The teenage girl's excited squeals, the playful yet somehow sinister giggle of Elmo, and most likely the only rendition of Optimus Prime's deep voice that a human being could achieve naturally; each of these had left Sam, as well as everyone else who happened to be within hearing distance, clutching his sides with laughter. Tyler's ability to parrot whoever he wanted to was amusing, distracting, but most of all...It was _accurate_. It was so accurate, in fact, that it was a little disconcerting. Although he doubted that Tyler would ever wreck havoc with his strange talent, he _could_. He could cause a lot of damage, mimicking someone else's voice to the very pitch. If Tyler Eller had been raised badly, if he had turned out to be very different than the teenager Sam had grown to like, someone not so sweet nor so blockheadedly nice...

Within his world of memory, Sam shivered.

_"Kind of a cool trick,"_ Tyler's image, nearly two weeks old, said with a shrug, an easygoing smile. _"Kind of a cool trick."_

Last, but certainly not least, came the memory of Optimus Prime. This one was older, older than either Antonia's or Tyler's by more than a year, but it still retained the taste of dying fear, of incredible relief, of aching exhaustion and of the deep desire to lay down and rest. It was of the day of the battle of Mission City, quite literally right after the battle itself had ended. Megatron's corpse lay within walking distance, smoking and shredded; the Autobots and Will's soldiers had grouped around him, Sam, in a loose circle; the sound of jets, not Starscream but the vehicles of the men Sam had mentally labeled _the good guys_, could be heard in the hazy sky above their heads. Optimus Prime was leaning toward him, his facial plates scarred and spattered with a glowing, purple fluid that was Cybertronian blood, but he no longer had the ferocity or the brutality of war lit within his optics. He looked just as Sam felt: tired. As though he too, strong, brave, and protective leader of the Autobot faction, would also like to find a quiet place to rest, to sleep.

_"Sam, I owe you my life,"_ the memory of Optimus Prime stated quietly.

He remembered the line that had followed that one, so surprising that it had made his eyes widen and his knees nearly buckle beneath him: _We are in your debt._ He remembered it so well because it suggested that the Autobots, not just Optimus Prime but Bumblebee, Ironhide, Ratchet and Jazz as well, were indebted to _him_, a very simple and a very small, a very young, human being. It had been, and still was, mind-blowing.

But that statement never came. It never had, not once during the fourteen previous episodes of mental disturbance. It was always Optimus Prime's first pronouncement, and not his second.

_I owe you my life._

Sam opened his eyes.

The dark, slithering ocean of ink had been replaced by reality. The floor beneath his feet was once again solid, the walls and the ceiling in their proper places, boxing him inside of the world he preferred. Light had returned, and he lifted his head up, hungrily craving what little heat radiated from the florescent bulbs. He was quickly learning that florescent light was better than no light at all.

The memories and their voices were quiet, once again the proper and sane dictionary definitions. Although he felt a little cold, with patches of goose bumps beginning to crop up on his forearms, he thought he was otherwise all right; unscathed and able to stumble his way through another day, all the while trying to understand what was wrong with him. It was relatively normal. After all, it had happened every twenty-four hours or so for the past two weeks. He was almost used to it.

Almost.

Placing one foot carefully in front of the other, Sam Witwicky stepped away from the comforting solidity of the wall and continued on his way. Down the hall, around the corner, someone was calling his name.

* * *

The sharp intake of breath chilled the inside of her mouth, the tight course of her throat, as she swallowed it, a small, uncomfortable ball of shock. She had not thought it was loud, she herself had barely heard it, but Bumblebee's hand curled around her protectively and squeezed her before relaxing into its original position once again. He had heard it, he probably heard the whining moan that was rising within her now, and she grasped his thumb tightly, desperately.

_Oh, Sam,_ she thought to herself, her eyes glazing with panicked tears. She couldn't help herself. Her stoic demeanor, her confident attitude, slipped away as though it was nothing more than an article of clothing that had grown too big to fit her correctly. How could she continue to put on that act, be that silly Ice Queen who refused to allow anything or anyone take her by surprise, when the small slice of substance, of solid land, that she had steadied her feet upon while the rest of world ceased to make sense had begun to crumble?

Sam Witwicky. Boyfriend, best friend, goofy and good-hearted, intelligent and sweet, defying the definition of courageous. He had remained tangible, absolute, throughout their ordeal: the loss of their old lives, of school, of family and friends, and the beginning of their new one, the Autobots and the Decepticons, ex-Sector Seven agents and soldiers, the war and its aftermath. He had done so much since then, that time when they were forced to start leading drastically different lifestyles. He had brushed flyaway strands of hair from her face as tears had poured down her cheeks, had muffled her sobs with his shoulder when she had awoken from yet another nightmare, one of Megatron and his sharpened claws, his maroon optics and his booming voice. He had stayed up all night with her on more than one occasion, talking quietly with her about what had happened, what was happening, what would happen, holding her hand with their fingers twined together, never once hinting that he wanted to do anything more with her than what she was ready for. She remembered the way he would blush when she kissed him on his nose, his cheek, his lips, and how his eyes would twinkle whenever he said something sarcastic, taking the edge away from his comment. There was so much about him that she loved, not liked but _loved_, so much that she respected and appreciated, and although she had hinted to Bumblebee that she was not content with her life, she _was_. She wanted to be normal again, that much was true. But as long as Sam remained Sam, she felt that she would be all right.

But...Sam was not _Sam _anymore.

With every step he took, bringing him closer to her and Bumblebee, the hallway seemed to shrink, to focus on him and who he had become, forcing her to wonder how she could have possibly missed so many changes. His face was thin and drawn, unhealthily white; the only blotches of color were the dark purple ovals around his eyes from lack of sleep. His face was not the only part of him that was thinner. His clothing hung from him, his shorts sloping from the rise of his hips even though his belt was notched almost as tight as it could be, his shirt billowing from his chest, occasionally hinting at the stack of his ribs when it was pulled taut as he walked. His expression was blank, as though it was carved from stone, and his hair was messy, tufts of it sticking up randomly from his head.

Mikaela missed the twinkle of his eyes, the small cut of his smile, his laugh, _her_ Sam, so much that it caused her physical pain, a deep, resounding ache in her heart.

Sam stopped unexpectedly, awkwardly, only a handful of feet away from them. Something in his expression changed, a subtle twitch that hinted to her that he realized what he must look like. He quickly ran a hand through his hair and attempted to adjust his position so that his clothing did not give away how skinny he had become. She let out an internal moan when he attempted to smile, a weak candle flicker compared to the dazzling fireworks show she was normally presented with.

"Hey," he tried, breaking the uncomfortable silence. When his voice cracked, both Mikaela and Bumblebee flinched. "What's up? Why'd you call me?"

Neither could answer. Bumblebee merely stared at his charge, his optics stop-starting over his body as he noticed each change that Mikaela had noticed moments before. Mikaela herself was at a loss of what to say. She attempted to speak, but her lips failed to form the words she wanted them to, and finally, she no longer tried. She let her mouth slip closed, its corners trembling.

Sam's eyebrows narrowed, his forehead wrinkling as he glanced between them in forced confusion. "Wha-at?" he stuttered weakly.

Bumblebee's tone was cold, but with panic and worry, with anger directed at himself. "You know _what_," he stated stonily. "You most certainly know _what_."

Before Sam could defend himself, Mikaela took a small step forward. "Sam," she murmured, lifting a quaking hand toward him. "Please. _Please_ tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong!" Sam snapped defensively, the emotions in his eyes poisoned with fear. "I'm fine! I don't know what either of you are talking about!"

"Samuel James Witwicky, do not _lie_ to me!" Bumblebee flared. "Your clothes no longer fit you! You are more tired than I have ever seen you!"

"You don't smile or laugh anymore!" Mikaela added, her made-up eyes squinted in an attempt to keep the tears from spilling. "You're always by yourself, you're always talking to yourself..."

"You flinch away from anyone who comes near you, you always look so startled - "

"Tyler tells me that you have bad dreams, that you wake him and Zach up sometimes because you cry out and kick - "

"They're _WRONG!_" Sam roared, his hands tightening into trembling fists. Mikaela and Bumblebee stiffened, her eyes and his optics wide with shock. "I sleep _FINE_ at night, all right? I don't know why I'm getting skinnier, I guess I just...haven't been that hungry lately! I'm not tired, I do la-_laugh_ and smile! I just like some time alone occasionally! Is that against the law now, or something? Is it not okay for me to be alone?"

"Sam..." Mikaela whispered, letting her hand drop away. Sam had never shouted at her before. From the way Bumblebee's shoulders were slumped, how wounded his optics looked, he had never shouted at his guardian, either.

Sam continued as though he hadn't heard her, throwing his hands into the air. "I _FLINCH_ so much because I'm around gigantor robots all day, Bumblebee! Of course I'm going to be a little scared of being stepped on or...or squashed! It doesn't take a damned genius to figure that out, does it?" Bumblebee flinched again. "You're overreacting, don't you understand that? Can you not hear how incredibly ridiculous you both sound, accosting me over stupid little things like...like all of this?

"I'm _FINE_, do you hear me?" he barked. "I'm - "

"Boy." Bumblebee's tone was no longer cold. It was broken. "Your hands are glowing."

Sam's mouth snapped shut. He stared at his guardian for a moment in silence, his eyes brooding with some emotion that lacked definition, before bringing his hands in front of him and turning them over so that he could see his palms. The glow that emitted from the life and love lines, from his fingerprints, illuminated his face and banished the shadows from his eyes. What remained was Sam Witwicky, boyfriend, best friend. More frightened than Mikaela had ever seen him.

When he finally brought his arms, his hands loose, to rest at his sides, the shadows returned to their previous places. But his eyebrows were hitched, furrowed together, like those of a child about to cry. His expression was no longer indecipherable.

"I don't know," he said, so softly, barely louder than a whisper. "I don't _k-know_..."

Mikaela watched as Bumblebee's hand slipped away from her, as their guardian drew toward Sam cautiously, trying so hard to keep him from flinching away. When he had settled in front of his charge, he carefully lowered his head so that it rested lightly atop Sam's own, placing one enormous hand on either side. Although she did not move, could not make herself move, she could hear Bumblebee perfectly. She listened intently to everything he said, oblivious to the tears running down her cheeks, the way her hands kneaded one another nervously, how hard she bit her bottom lip.

"Sam," Bumblebee said softly, placing the tip of one finger atop his charge's shoe. "I do not know what is wrong with you either. I have watched you ever since you began to change, two weeks ago, and I tried as hard as I could to make excuses for what I have seen. I have tried to trick myself into believing that what is happening to you is not anything that deserves my attention, especially because you did not approach me yourself. I thought that if it was important, you would find me and tell me. Because you trust me. That was a mistake on my part. A horrible mistake." Bumblebee's optics closed. "I have failed you."

Sam let out a moan and tried to draw away, but the Autobot pressed his helm harder against him, forcing him to stay still. "I should have inquired about you. I _should_ have, I know that now. I did not want to because I was afraid of what you might tell me. I was a coward. But...I'm trying _not_ to be anymore. I am hoping that it is not too late to help you."

His optics opened, and Bumblebee turned his head so that his gaze rested solely on Sam's face. It bore into him. "Sam, I love you. You are my brother. My best friend. I would die to protect you, but not because I have to. It is _because_ I love you. Because you mean an incredible amount to me, more than you can possibly understand. I am sorry for turning a blind eye to you for this long. I am sorry that it has become so bad for you. But please. Trust me now, Sam. Trust me because I love you. I want to help you. I need to.

"_Please_." He sounded strained. Desperate. "Tell me what is wrong."

He was met with silence.

His head still tucked beneath Bumblebee's, Sam lifted his hand up, reached out and pressed it against his guardian's face, his fingers trembling, his shoulders trembling, his entire body quaking with terror. He was about to speak, his mouth opening, Mikaela's breath held uncomfortably in and her heart pounding exuberantly, when William Lennox's voice rang throughout the hall.

_"Sam, Mikaela, 'Bee! Come 'ere, I gotta talk to you!"_

Sam let out a squeak, his hand dropping as though it was suddenly too heavy to hold. He took an uncomfortable, stiff step away from Bumblebee, nearly tripping over the Autobot's hand, still splayed across the floor.

He released his breath in a snort, his nostrils flaring, his pupils dilated. After staring between his guardian and his girlfriend, he slowly shook his head.

"I am _fine_. There is _nothing_ wrong with me."

He remained where he was, standing before them stolidly, as though challenging either of them to speak against him. When they did not, he began to back up, putting significant distance between himself and his friends until he reached the corner. It was then that he turned around and disappeared.

Mikaela and Bumblebee stood, side by side, until they could no longer hear his escape. Then, walking closely together, they followed him.

* * *

"Tonight."

The bones of Thomas's fingers, their tips peeking through what remained of his skin, dug into his pants, his leg beneath. His breathing quickened as that single word rang within his head, as loud, as sweet, as the gong of a church bell. _Tonight,_ he thought wondrously. _It begins tonight._

_It ends tonight._

"Are you sure?" he asked softly, his voice exposing none of the tension, the excitement, that was permeating his body. He could feel himself trembling, beginning in his shoulders and ending in his knees; he tightened his jaw before the tremble could set his teeth chattering. Not that there were many left in his mouth.

"Yes," Soundwave stated, turning the face the small form slumped before him. Barricade stood beside him, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. "The mines have been set in their designated places. Within two hour's time, I will have the energy required to send out an electro-magnetic pulse strong enough to wipe out all electrical devices within a two-hundred mile radius." Soundwave's visored gaze focused on Thomas, as though analyzing him. "It will be just as dark as was requested, cyborg."

There was a moment of silence.

"Two hours." His voice was without emotion.

"Yes." Soundwave's gaze never left his face. "Are you ready?"

He raised his head slowly, the softened bones in his neck creaking, squeaky hinges in need of an oiling. His single organic eye, his bright red optic, focused on Soundwave. He refused to look away.

"I am ready."

**{2:00:00}**


	39. Chapter XXXIX

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XXXIX_

The weapon's chamber smelled of burned hair, singed skin, and charred metal. Eddies of smoke rose and swirled in the air, obscuring the light and casting the entire room into diaphanous shadow. Only the bright blue radiance of the Autobots' optics, seven pairs in all, burned through the smog. She watched as each bulb slipped through the darkness, like witch lights banishing the night, and was comforted by their luminescence, by the enormous, robotic outlines that were attached to them, black silhouettes against the sleepy gray.

Whenever a pair of optics found her, blazing through the murky air and alighting on her smudged face, she knew without a doubt that they belonged to her guardian. The fact that he checked up on her so recently, every few minutes, comforted her as well. Even though his presence and his constant reminder of it, _I am close, if you need me,_ forced her to remember why these terrifying tests were occurring, it also let her know that she was not alone.

"All right, everyone. This is it." William Lennox's voice, scratchy and exhausted, rerouted Pilar to the present. Although she did not say so aloud, his words made her weak with grateful relief. After nearly two hours of hefting and handling heavy, dangerous alien weaponry, of being burned, scratched and bruised by the occasional backlash or misfire, and of inhaling flyaway cinders and plumes of smoke, she was more than ready for the ordeal to be over. By the audible sigh that permeated the room, one made by both humans and Autobots alike, she knew that the others, especially the latter, were relieved as well. She and the rest of the charges had had to learn how to use the guns, as many of them had little to no experience with even simple, human firearms, but the Autobots had been forced to be their guinea pigs. Although the abuse had been doled out in equal amounts, she knew by the yelps, barks, and foreign curses she had heard rip through the smog that even one shot from Ironhide's experiments hurt, and badly.

That was another reason as to why she wanted the tests to be over: she did not enjoy bringing them pain, and had winced each time she had pressed the trigger.

_At least,_ she thought to herself, rubbing tiredly at her stinging eyes, _I haven't had to shoot Optimus Prime._

For that small gift, Pilar was incredibly grateful. In the past two weeks, ever since he had approached her in that empty room to ask for her forgiveness, she and her guardian had grown close, closer than she had expected given the short amount of time they had been together. In fact, he was rapidly becoming a friend. Had it not been for him, she would have been, and would still be, alone.

As it had turned out, staying at an alien base with six enormous robots, one small sparkling, and a handful of humans she barely knew _could_ be boring, especially because, more often than not, she had been the odd one out. Antonia, Telebot, Zach, Tyler, Sam and Mikaela stayed together in a tightly knit group, exploring, talking, and being surprisingly silly. They ran through the rooms, playing every form of tag they thought up of: man hunt, sardines, hide-and-go-seek. They would puddle together on the floor and listen to music, tell stories, whip out some sort of board or card game. On some occasions, they would nap together that way, all at once: Sam, with his arm around Mikaela, her head resting against his chest; Antonia, Telebot tucked around her waist, snuggled between Zachary and Tyler. This had worried her motherly instincts and on more than one occasion, she had been ready to approach her daughter about it. This was before she realized, with some surprise, that there was nothing sexual about the way Zach and Tyler acted around Antonia. Tyler's arm would serve only as Antonia's pillow, and Zach, though always close, did not touch her.

What it boiled down to, and what she had been so slow to realize, was that these five teenagers, with a young robot thrown into the mix, were fast becoming best friends. It was true that they spent time apart from one another, visiting their guardians or, most notably in Sam's case, being alone, but they usually traveled in a pack. That was what they were: a silly, goofy, terrified pack of young men and women desperate for distractions from the shadows that were growing, twisting, every moment Thomas Duke, the Locomoticons, and Starscream went undiscovered. It was for this reason, she knew, that the elder Autobots did not complain about their scurrying underfoot, hiding in odd places, or laughing loudly. Optimus Prime, Ratchet and Ironhide understood, perhaps more than Bumblebee, Jazz and Hound did, that this was their charges' way of dealing with uncertainty, and because it never became out of hand, they allowed it to continue.

Pilar, being a good eighteen years older than the youngest of the teenagers, did not attempt to worm her way into their group. She was an adult, and did not feel entirely comfortable with the idea of joining them. She sat with them sometimes, listened to their chatter and occasionally contributed her own. She cooked for them, shared their good nights, and stayed awake with them when no one was able to sleep. If she was anything at all to the younger charges, she was their mother; not in the literal sense for anyone other than Antonia, of course, but in the figurative one. She had adopted them in the absence of their parents, and that was how they treated her. _Usually._ Tyler enjoyed wolf-whistling, blowing kisses and addressing her in sexily deep voices, but his actions were playful, silly, just as was everything else he did. When not bombarded with these harmless advances, she was considered the protective hen by her figurative brood. It was what she preferred.

Yet, even though it was what she preferred, she had known that it would be extraordinarily lonely without another person, preferably another adult, to spend time with. William Lennox and Agent Simmons had been, at one point, options for her, but that was before she realized that their comradeship, consisting of Ironhide and a handful of hardened soldiers, was unintentionally _No Girls Allowed._ Will was friendly enough, and Simmons was as well, even if she _had_ caught him throwing appreciative glances her way when he had thought she was not looking. However, after spending only a few minutes in their presence, it was clear that their focus was everything and anything related to rough, dirty, explosive fighting, which, to say the least, was not her forte. While she continued to press them for any information they may have discovered relating to Thomas, she did not attempt to become something more than a civilian with whom they happened to share a base.

That had left her with one choice.

At first, she had expected the idea of becoming a friend to one or all of the Autobots to frighten her. But it hadn't. She had watched Bumblebee, Jazz, Hound, even Ratchet and Ironhide, interact with their charges; the sweet, familiar way they bantered and spent time with them not only surprised her, it increased her desire to get to know the Autobots, all of whom seemed to be just as complex as any human being she might have known. Even Optimus Prime's reaction to her asking about his spark mate, Ironhide's blatant denial of Tyler...It was intriguing, and somehow, it made her feel more comfortable than their acting like the superior beings she had imagined them to be, once upon a time. The fact that each Autobot had a personality, a collection of flaws, even a specific laugh which she could now identify upon hearing, made them so much more approachable.

With that thought in mind, she had wandered up to Optimus Prime and had started to talk, making slow, ordinary conversation that had eventually evolved into something deeper. They had begun by him explaining to her what he had been doing at the time, carefully checking to see if new spark signatures had cropped up on the radar; that same night, hours after she had first approached him, they had ended with her explanation of the Zodiac, of human constellations and their stories, their origins, as the two of them had sat and stared up into the night through the sky light above their heads. Since that cautious meeting, she had spent every day with him, the flow of their back-and-forth exchanges taking on a more personal note. It was never the entire day, not with the business he had to attend to, but it was enough, more than enough, for her to realize that he did not merely put on the front of being incredibly intelligent, incredibly compassionate, and incredibly humble. It was who he was, and discovering this, uncovering bits and pieces of him, becoming his friend instead of just his charge, was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. What made it all the more enjoyable was that it appeared that he was just as interested in her as she was in him, asking questions, but never interrupting. Always listening.

There were certain questions, however, that neither of them asked one another. She knew that he wondered. After dozing off on a night that had been quieter than others, she had awoken to find herself in his cupped hands, while he stood before her bedroom door so that he could slip her inside. With a single eye open, she had watched the tip of his finger gently nudge her fisted hand loose across his palm and brush the shining circle of metal that had caught his attention: her wedding ring. He had said nothing of it the next day, assuming that she had still been asleep. She had not mentioned it either. But it was proof that he wondered, if only to himself. She wondered too, about that name, so lovely, _Elita_, that had torn that volatile reaction from him. But such questions were still off limits, and she had promised herself that she would not hurt him again. It would come out when the time was right.

_The point is,_ Pilar reminded herself, squinting through the smog, _I could never pick up a gun, point it at him, and shoot. I just...couldn't. Even if it was just_ once_, even if it was in the_ leg_, or the_ arm_, even for something like_ this.

_I couldn't._

"All right, Pilar," Will said, a cough punctuating his sentence like a period. His gloved hand reached toward her from out of the smoke and gripped her wrist, pulling her closer; she saw his blackened face rise from the shadow and, farther away, she could distinguish Ironhide's enormous silhouette. "Big guy, you two are up. One last gun, one last person to test it, and one last guinea pig. Then we're outta here, baby."

_Wait...what? _

Amid the weak, but genuine, whoops and scattered applause, Pilar gulped, her lungs stinging as strings of smoke whispered down her throat. "Big guy..." she mumbled, her eyes widening despite the irritating burn. Will glanced at her, his dusty eyebrows raised in question. "Do you mean...H-Hound?"

His expression turned quizzical. "Optimus Prime," he corrected her. "That's what I call 'im. Big guy. 'Cause...y'know, he's big."

_No!_ "No-o!" she stammered, wrenching her arm from Will's gloved grasp. Ironhide, who had since sauntered over with his last experiment and had lowered himself to their height, shot her a disapproving look. Will merely became more confused. "What do you - "

"I am not _shooting_ Optimus Prime," she hissed, foolishly believing that their conversation was inaudible to everyone but the two of them. She was oblivious to the silence had befallen the weapon's chamber as both Autobots and their charges listened in, their collective curiosity perked. "What if I _hurt_ him?"

The quiet prevailed for another moment, as though building toward a climax, before it was broken by a badly-hidden snort. A deep blush blooming on each cheek, Pilar winced upon hearing the raucous giggles that suddenly erupted from behind her.

"Isn't dat _cute!_" a voice snickered from the growing gray, one she recognized immediately as Jazz's. "Girl's tryin' to protect 'im! Wee liddle Prime, can't take a single shot wit'out goin' to pieces and needs his lady friend to defend 'im!"

"Does Optimus need a _bandaid_?" Hound cooed, his chuckles threatening to drown out his words. "Or how 'boutta _kiss_ for dat _booboo_?"

Somehow, the loud smooching noises that followed their teasing were, at the very least, ten times more embarrassing than the teases themselves. With every fiber of her being, Pilar wished that she could melt into a puddle and leak between the cracks in the floor, an existence that had to be better than the one she was living with at the moment.

Soft grumbles sounded from the murky air some distance away from where she, Will and Ironhide stood, and a familiar pair of bright blue optics, narrowed to thin slits, could be seen through the dark. "What I find interesting," Optimus Prime stated dryly, "is that, even _with_ the heavy pollution of the air, I can still target both of you with incredible precision. Now, I only need to decide whether I should go for your sparks or for your cheeky, disrespectful, young _heads_."

This comment garnered more laughter and a bout of good-natured whistles. Ironhide and Will, however, remained relatively unfazed by it all. The two of them didn't even seem to register Pilar's reddened face or her stammered attempts at defiance, loading the thick, heavy weapon Ironhide held between two fingers and murmuring to each other in soft whispers. It was only when Pilar literally stepped away from Will as he approached her, the enormous gun hefted against his chest, that he finally lost his patience.

"Goddammit, Pilar! It's one shot with one weapon!" the soldier snapped irritably. "You're the only one who hasn't tried another gun, Optimus is the only 'bot that hasn't been hit a final time, and this is the last friggin' experiment left! You know what we can do after this?" he asked her, his eyebrows cocked once again. "We can _leave!_ We can get out of this hell hole, get ourselves cleaned up, fed, and then go to sleep! Doesn't that sound nice? Doesn't sleep sound _nice_?"

"I'm not shooting him." She turned her head away, her blush still churning beneath the charcoal smudges dabbed across her cheeks. "He's my friend, and I don't want to hurt him." _I don't think I can._

"I suppose it is good to know that it is perfectly okay for you to hurt _us_," Ratchet commented, giving rise to a few stray snickers.

Although his comment was clearly made in jest, it only furthered her discomfort. "W-wait...That's not what I meant!" Pilar replied half-heartedly, her maroon blush returning with a vengeance. It was such a strong sensation that her cheeks prickled painfully.

"Babe, it doesn't matter _what_ you meant," Will interrupted. "You're shootin' him and that's that." When she took another step away from him, her arms crossed tightly over her thin chest, he let out a gravelly groan. "He's the giant robot leader of a giant robot faction, Pilar. Do you honestly believe that one more shot is going to put him down for the count?"

From where he stood, Optimus Prime shifted, the equivalent of someone attempting to clear their throat. "Which is not to say that you need to aim for anything other than an arm or a leg," he interjected loftily; from somewhere behind her, Tyler let out an amused _Pfft._

Pilar fidgeted uncomfortably. "How can I aim for anything at all?" she cried, alternating her glare between Will and Optimus Prime, both of whom met her red-eyed gaze each time it swiveled toward them. "I can barely see through this stupid smoke! I might just shoot him in his giant robot leader _head_, for all I know! Or something j-just as important!"

Behind her, someone let loose another giggle. "I don' know if I'd laugh or cry for Prime if she shot 'im in 'is spark," Jazz sniggered.

"I would cry for him," Hound stated almost immediately.

"Really?"

"...Naw. I'd laugh my aft off." The two younger Autobots erupted into smothered chuckles. Close beside them, Bumblebee let out an audible sigh.

"That is not _funny_," Ratchet snapped, and there was a loud _WHAM_ as he slapped Hound upside his helm; the scout let out an irritated yelp, his enormous feet clattering against the floor as he skittered away. "The fact that it would be potentially lethal is beside the point. You should not chortle over your leader's misfortunes, _period_, even if they _are_ only within the realm of possibility."

"What's so bad about getting hit in the spark?" Tyler asked, interrupting the medic's _Ignorant fools..._ comment. "I thought it was all...protected. You guys have macho pecs, don't you?"

"It _is_ protected," Ratchet replied. "But do you not remember, Tyler, our lovely conversation earlier? Our sparks are both our life source and our means of reproduction. Even a single hit, if placed correctly and with precision, could be the equivalent of the average human male being kicked in the groin with a decent amount of force."

There was a collective hiss of pain made by every male in the room, followed by Tyler's whispered "_Ow_."

"Yes," Optimus Prime said, his tone sheepish. "Ow."

From where he stood in the midst of it all, Will let out an impatient sigh. "Well, this isn't really helping my case, is it?" he barked, gesturing toward Pilar. Her expression was stony, her refusal more blatant than it had been. "If I had any chance of swaying her before, it's gone now. Thank you, Ratchet, Jazz, and Hound. Your help is appreciated."

Before any of the Autobots could step up to defend themselves, Optimus Prime spoke.

"Pilar." His voice, confident but kind, did not bubble with the teasing tone Jazz's and Hound's had. "Please look at me."

For a moment, it appeared as though she would ignore his request, her deepening blush and furrowed eyebrows clear signs that her embarrassment for having been overheard had not yet waned. But, after shifting herself to face him, she tilted her head up until her eyes met his own.

It took a considerable amount of strength, keeping her gaze level with his as he addressed her.

"I do not think that you understand quite how much it means to me to hear someone say that they do not want to hurt me. As I am sure you can imagine, it is usually the other way around." This statement was accompanied by a handful of light-hearted agreements, made mostly by the Autobots, which quickly settled back into silence. "I assure you, however, that what you're feeling is unnecessary. Will was right when he stated the obvious: I _am_ the giant robot leader of a giant robot faction. I do not say this to boost my ego. I say this because it would be expected that such a title would garner a certain amount of faith in what I am capable of handling." His voice adopted a tone of exaggerated sadness that was intended to make her smile, and it did; it even forced a giggle out of her. "Have you so little faith in me, the giant robot leader of the giant robot faction, as so eloquently titled by one of the most respected soldiers under my command?"

"Oh, I'm _blushing_," Will grumbled sarcastically as he toddled up to Pilar, his arms trembling beneath the weight of the weapon. "You've got me all hot and bothered, you flatter me so."

This time, it was Optimus Prime who laughed, a deep, sweet roar that faded just as Will, his lips quirked into a smile, positioned the gun into Pilar's hands. She did not protest as he did so, nor did she fidget when he settled himself behind her, helping her balance the weight. Although she was still not completely comfortable with the idea of hurting her guardian, she had decided to keep her mouth shut. Someone was going to be in pain, whether it was him or one of the other Autobots, and she did not want to be one who made another Autobot step up in his place; that wasn't fair. Besides that, he didn't seem to understand the source of her discomfort. He had asked her to have faith in him, but she _did_. She had, ever since he had first requested it of her.

_Your trust, as my charge._

Pilar's breath quickened as she watched Will's hands slip over hers and slowly begin to lift the weapon; apparently, he had been explaining to her what it was, what it would do, and how to use it. She hadn't heard a word he had said.

Not a single one.

Her heart drumming within her chest, she met her Optimus Prime's optics, feeling the desperation he thought he had held at bay seep back into her gaze. _Please don't make me do this,_ her eyes pled.

He did not dismiss her, but he tried to rein her in, tried to ground her with what he had asked her to do. _Have faith in me,_ he replied; she could even hear him speak it, though he did not open his mouth. _Everything is going to be all right._

Her eyes slipped closed. _I do have faith in you._ Her fingers, covered by Will's gloved hand, inched toward the trigger.

_I do not have faith in myself._

The moment the strange weapon quaked in her trembling grasp, the moment it spouted fire and kicked back against her chest, the world went dark.


	40. Chapter XL

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XL_

Antonia could still hear the weapon's explosive kick-back whining annoyingly in her ears when the lights died.

The power outage did not come with a warning. One second, the florescent bulbs far above her head were fighting against the rising, swirling smog; the next, the little light they had provided disappeared, casting the entire room into impenetrable darkness. She could feel her eyes widening, the nervous rush of blood pulsing painfully behind their lids as she sucked in a desperate breath of dirty air. The blossoming of black had been so sudden, was so deep, that she could not see her hand even when she held it, trembling and sweaty, inches in front of her nose, and she couldn't help the panic attack that so closely followed the unexpected outage. Her throat constricted with bestial fear as she reached out blindly for Telebot, her heart stopping its panicked gallop only when her fingers touched his own, her hand clasping around his wrist as his did the same. She gulped, her eyebrows furrowing together with relief when he turned toward her, his bright optics locked and shining upon her face. Clicking and whimpering, he immediately skittered into her lap, unlatching himself from her arm so that he could wrap his around her waist in a tight hug. She clutched him desperately to her chest and tucked her head beside his helm, closing her eyes so that she wouldn't have to stare into that incredible darkness and wonder if whatever had caused it (_Thomas oh Thomas_) was staring back at her.

Her quick retreat into Telebot's embrace had taken her but five seconds.

As soon as she curled herself against her tiny creation, the inoperative bulbs exploded, shards of sharp, hot glass spilling into the clouds of murk and tinkling to the floor. She could hear her mother, Will, Sam, Grayson, and the others cry out in pain and alarm, could hear their feet slide and scuttle across the metal floor panels as they attempted to dodge the glass shrapnel. Those small, human noises were soon overridden by the Autobots, calling to one another in severe commands, unlocking their weapons from the compartments in their arms, their hands. She did not, however, hear them move, and although it took her a moment to understand why, when she understood, it caused her stomach to twist and knot sickeningly. _They don't want to crush us,_ she thought, her bottom lip trembling with anxiety. She bit it before it could betray her, before it could let loose a scream.

The tinkling of the bulbs' remains had not yet stopped when, suddenly, the ground beneath her _heaved_. It was as though she was on a small ship stuck in the middle of a stormy sea, the deck rising and falling below her. Instead of hearing waves crash against the ship's wooden sides, she heard plates of raw earth groan and grind before thrusting their way through the panels of the floor, the groans and grinds becoming ear-piercing screeches as the plates shoved themselves into and onto the thick, metal boards. Antonia gasped heavily as she struggled to both hold on to Telebot and avoid sliding between the growing, quivering cracks being wrenched open below her; her heart reacquired its panicking, painful gallop, and she could feel it rise into her throat as she began to slip down the edge of a seesawing slice of alloy. Telebot bounced loose from her grasp, and she could feel his tiny fingers slide along her shirt, her elbow, her wrist, the palm of her hand, as he tumbled away. Before she could scream, her lips finally giving way to the terror rushing up her throat, she heard a solid _thud_, followed closely by Telebot's disgruntled squeal. A gust of air whisked across her face, sending her hair into a flurry of soft, momentary tickles against her cheeks, and suddenly, five thick fingers wrapped themselves around her abdomen and tucked her protectively into an equally thick palm.

The clasped hand quivered unsteadily, its owner unable to find purchase on the quaking ground. Her teeth clicking and snapping together as she bounced, Antonia could hear, vaguely, Optimus Prime's deep voice shout yet another command, even as her savior rocked and rolled across the floor, the world collapsing into chaos around them. She didn't know what it was, she couldn't understand the individual words called from across the room, but the reaction of the Autobot holding her was immediate. He hunkered down against the floor, and she heard the crashes as he systematically slammed each foot deep into the shuddering ground. Then, still bent low, the hand cupping her opened slightly, holding her tightly against his chassis. His other hand did the same, releasing Telebot from his grasp and allowing the little robot to wiggle in beside her, while his fingers closed and kept them safely tucked against him.

Whatever had happened was still happening, but the noises were diffused, hollow, and for the moment, Antonia felt relatively protected. Curled to the Autobot's chassis, she could feel the comfortable heat of his spark beneath her turned cheek, and with her breath still wheezing fearfully from her trembling lips, she pressed as close to him as possible. Wrapping one arm around Telebot and pulling him to rest, trembling and whimpering, against her side, Antonia lifted her other hand and placed it a little lower to hold herself steady.

She drew back as soon as her skin brushed the warmed surface, but replaced it without thinking, recognition registering stoutly in her mind. She felt the jagged, uneven surface of his scar beneath her palm, and released a soft sigh. _Jazz._

Bundled firmly against her guardian, Antonia waited.

* * *

She didn't know how long the incident lasted. It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours; without a reliable source of light, without a real sense of place, Antonia was entirely unaware of everything that was happening and had happened outside of Jazz's fisted hands.

She _was_ aware of Telebot's comforting presence and Jazz's surprising warmth, and was grateful for them both. Those blessings aided in keeping her sane. She was also aware of her mind's blatant refusal to think about what might have happened to everyone else. She didn't want to think of her mother, or Tyler, or Zach, or any of the others splattered across the tumbled floorboards; she _couldn't_. So she didn't. Instead, she focused her gaze on some indivisible, forgettable spot and allowed herself to draw a mute, blind blank. She shut herself down.

That was another blessing that kept her sane.

Eventually, after some indistinguishable period of time, she crawled her way out of the mental burrow she had snuggled herself into, awakened, surprisingly, by the growing silence. The explosions, the slams, the bangs, the thuds, the shouts and the screams had quieted. All she could hear was the occasional soft plop of plaster collapse from the loosened ceiling or the groan of metal panels creak, and that quiet, barely interrupted, scared her far more than the body-rocking noise had.

Jazz's hold on her suddenly loosened, his hands trembling weakly as he slowly slipped her away from his chassis and found her somewhat steady standing upon the churned ground. Blinking in the soft light cast by the barely risen moon through an opening gouged into the chamber's wall, Antonia watched with alarm as her guardian, his tremble causing his shoulders to quake, collapsed to his knees. His fingers skittered blindly across the rubble, one hand attempting to hold himself up, the other reaching to cup his helm. "_Primus_..." he whispered softly, his mouth twisting into a scowl as he shimmied debris from his hunched back.

His voice, as faint as it was, seemed to stir the other Autobots into consciousness. Peering over her shoulder, Antonia watched as dark, intricate silhouettes distinguished themselves from the shadows, bright blue optics lightening, pained groans and foreign curses echoing hollowly throughout the chamber. The wave of relief she felt upon seeing small, familiar human faces, dirty but intact, peek from beneath the bodies of their respective guardians was strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. Tyler, knocked from his wheelchair, wriggled from under Hound and pushed himself into a sitting position, running a charcoal-smeared hand through his hair as the Autobot wrenched his feet free from the ground, scattering chunks of earth and clods of dirt. Nearby, Bumblebee struggled unsteadily in an attempt to tuck his legs beneath him, Sam and Mikaela pulling themselves up from where he had pressed with them against the ground; Ratchet, having already maneuvered himself onto his bottom, cupped his hand around Zach and lifted him to rest against his chassis. Ironhide had the largest collection of all with Will, Grayson and Robert flocked beneath him, each soldier straining to straighten himself out while the Autobot remained hunched over them on his hands and knees, grumbling as he shook his head back and forth, attempting to dislodge all the detritus that had fallen on top of him.

Farther away than the rest lay Optimus Prime, his enormous body splayed across the shattered floor. He was the last of the Autobots to raise his head, open his optics and allow their light to chase away the invasion of the night, but he was the one that Antonia watched with the most anticipation, her eyes failing to register all else. She looked on as he rubbed gravel from the side of his face, the tips of his fingers coming away purpled with Cybertronian blood; he, however, did not seem to see it any more than she did. Instead, his gaze was locked on his other hand, and as he uncurled his fingers, Antonia's eyes searched for and found her mother curled up in his palm, the ebony locks of her hair draped over his knuckles like jungle vines. There was a moment of pure panic, a moment when Pilar did not move, did not even seem to breathe, and Antonia's heart beat slowed to a stop.

It roared, pumped madly and returned to life, when Pilar slowly tucked her arm against her head, her hand grasping a clump of loose curls as she stretched her back, her face twisting into a pained grimace.

After placing Pilar atop an overturned floor panel and pushing himself into a sort of half-crouch, Optimus Prime glanced around, carefully cataloging the presence of each charge and each Autobot. When he finally spoke, his voice remained calm, as though nothing of particular interest had occurred. "Is everyone all right?"

There were soft mumbles of verification all throughout the chamber, and the Autobot's shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. "That, at least," he said softly, "is good to hear." The concurring chorus that followed lasted only a few seconds, soon dropping off into an uncomfortable silence that no one seemed able to break.

Antonia quickly noticed why: Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Jazz and Hound were frozen in place, their optics narrowed to thin, bright slits of blue light as they stared out of the opening that had been torn into the weapon's chamber. It was the wall, she realized, that faced Mission City, and she peered out of the opening as well, squinting her eyes in a desperate attempt to see what held the Autobots' undivided attention. After quickly scanning the horizon, she dropped her gaze, her lips twisted into a confused frown. There was nothing there that was out of the ordinary, nothing that should have caught -

_Oh my God,_ she thought with a physical jolt, her hands tightening into small, trembling fists. Her fingernails bit into her palms, leaving bloodied crescents.

_Where are Mission City's lights?_

"Optimus." Antonia, her fists still trembling, swiveled around at the sound of Ratchet's voice, noticing that many other heads turned along with hers despite the fact that none of them were being addressed. The medic, stoutly unaware that he had captured everyone's attention, still held Zach cupped against his plated chest; Zach, who appeared to be in some state of shock, was gripping the grill of his guardian's chassis with whitened knuckles, the shadows around his eyes incredibly dark. As though able to sense his charge's condition, Antonia noticed that Ratchet's hold around Zach tightened in an effort to comfort him. "Optimus...You understand what this means."

Before the Autobot leader could reply, Ironhide interrupted, though his hushed tone made it appear as though he was talking to himself. "An electromagnetic pulse," he whispered softly. "It could not have been anything else."

From where he stood beside the weapon's specialist, Will blinked, his eyebrows furrowing together in what Antonia could only deem denial. "Buddy..." His voice, hoarse and choked, erupted into a half-mad cackle. "We...we don't _have_ the sort of technology that could create a _goddamned_ electromagnetic pulse!"

Ironhide was slow to turn away from the empty space in the shattered wall. The light of his optics doused the soldier's upturned face in bright, alien blue when he finally confronted him. "It was not a human being who caused this," he stated quietly, gesturing around at the ruined floor, the chunks of loose plaster hissing through the air. He searched for and found Optimus Prime, who had said nothing, patiently awaiting him to finish. "It was not a Locomoticon either. Of that I am sure."

"Then who the _hell_ did this?" Robert Epps questioned, enunciating each word with slow deliberation.

"Soundwave." Antonia jerked in surprise, glancing over her shoulder at her guardian. He was no longer bent at the knees with exhaustion or pain, but stood in the same sort of half-crouch that Optimus held, his body tense and tight. Although he had earned himself a decent amount of dents and scratches, he did not waver. "He's the only Decepticon we know of that has that sort of power. His bein' here on Earth would also explain why we couldn't find Starscream or Barricade; he's been screwin' with our signature detection, hidin' 'em from us." His visor glinted in the pale light of the moon as directed his gaze toward his leader. "I'd bet my shiny metal aft it was 'im, Prime. He's pro'ly learned that Megatron's dead, and he wants to settle the score."

"By attacking _Mission City_?" Hound speculated. The scout shook his head, jarring loose small cakes of rock and rubble. "No...If he wanted to settle his score, or merely settle his score, he would attack us directly. By choosing Mission City as a battlefield, he is attempting to lead us away the base, provoke us. For what reason, I am not entirely sure. But we must remember that this cannot be _only_ Soundwave. He has, as Jazz has pointed out, been protecting both Barricade and Starscream. But they have been in hiding for fourteen days." Hound's voice coarsened. "They waited, planned this attack for a good, long while. This is not a random shot in the dark. Soundwave...Soundwave knows better than to try that."

"Thomas Duke." Whoever had spoken was human, and sounded terrified to the point of frigidity. It took Antonia a moment to realize that it was her mother.

Optimus Prime gave a noticeable start. "She's right," he murmured thoughtfully. When met with expressions of curiosity, his own became strained with realization. "...We have forgotten.

"Starscream and Barricade are not the only ones who we have been unable to find."

Silence erupted, following and weighed down by the connection that had just been made.

"Thomas...and the Locomoticons..." Sam finally began, his tone tinged with astonishment so strong that it would have been amusing under other circumstances, "they're...they're _with_ Soundwave, Starscream and Barricade."

"And we have no idea how many Locomoticons there are," Optimus Prime finished. As he did, he slowly tilted his head and stared down at his hands, immersing himself deeply in thought.

"If this is all true," Bumblebee said, slowly getting to his feet, "then this is, in fact, an attempt to separate us. They are expecting more than half of the Autobot faction to go to Mission City, learn what has happened there, and face it. We may be met with opposition, or most likely, little to no opposition at all. I am of the opinion that the brunt of Thomas's combined forces are going to come here, to our ruined base, to retrieve our human charges and do with them what they may."

"We must not let them retrieve the All Spark," Ratchet stated, sounding troubled. "It may be trapped within Antonia, but that has obviously not dampened its power."

"But we can't leave Mission City out there, _literally_ in the dark! Not only because the city most likely suffered much more than our base did but also because we could be _wrong_!" Will snapped defensively. "Even if it's just one or two Autobots, Optimus, we need to send them help, and fast. If anything, Grayson, Rob and I will dig Ironhide's weapons out, get back to Simmons and our faction, and go to Mission City on our own!"

"You are right," Optimus Prime replied, his response triggering an obvious relaxation in Will's taut muscles. "Someone must go and investigate what the situation is in Mission City, and help where they can. Ironhide, I ask that you go with Will, Grayson and Robert. Do exactly as Will has suggested. If you need back-up, contact me immediately."

Ironhide nodded curtly. "Of course, Optimus."

"Autobots, charges," Optimus stated loudly, his voice ringing throughout the room. Every pair of optics and eyes were locked on his face. "Dig through the rubble in search of those weapons. Salvage what you can, but we cannot waste much time on this; there _is_ no time to waste. Work quickly, diligently, and most of all, carefully.

"While you are working," he continued, the Autobots beginning to scourge their way through the uprooted earth and battered metal floor boards while each small, human figure reminded standing, still watching him, still utterly silent, "I ask that you prepare yourselves.

"I ask that you be ready."

* * *

"By the pricking of my thumbs,  
something wicked this way comes."

- _**Macbeth**_.


	41. Chapter XLI

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XLI_

Grayson's head poked out of the unrolled window, his face a soft dot of blurred white against the shadows. "Is that the last of the weaponry?"

"No, but it's all we have time for." Will grunted as he hefted the enormous weapon into the truck bed of Ironhide's charcoal-smudged alternate mode. "If we search any longer, our 'negligence' in responding to whatever disaster's happened in Mission City could cause a pretty big shitstorm."

"A bigger shitstorm than all of this is already _goin'_ to cause?" From where he sat, his booted feet propped up lazily against the dashboard, Robert Epps let out a bitter caw of a laugh. "That's hard to believe, man. Hard to believe."

Although he said nothing, Will's facial features hardened, his jaw clicking audibly upon hearing Rob's words. _I'm trying the best I can,_ he thought to himself, despising the petulant whine that threatened to creep into the voice reverberating within his mind. _I'm trying my goddamned best! _

Instead of approaching Ironhide's cab, he stayed where he was, his shoulders stiff, his muscles tense, his attention focused on the litter of dangerous, alien firearms situated before him.

After a moment of uninterrupted silence, he mercilessly quieted the childish whine of that subconscious static, lifted his head and locked gazes with each of his fellow charges. They had flocked together, had formed a small, quiet group that, after searching through the rubble and wiggling loose the buried weapons, had done nothing but watch him and their surroundings with a growing amount of distress.

He noticed absently that each of their expressions displayed everything he was feeling, lacking only the discipline he forced upon himself.

"Antonia, Mikaela, and Pilar," he announced, gesturing for them to step forward. The three women approached him, carefully making their way through the wreckage and occasionally grabbing one another's arms in attempts to keep from tumbling. When they finally reached him, crowding around him in a loose semi-circle, he turned away to rummage amongst the weaponry. Picking up a small, powerful gun and checking to make sure that it was locked, he handed it to Antonia, who, after experiencing a bout of initial caution, grasped it from him with two, trembling hands. She stared at it, inspected it from all angles, and then glanced up at Will again, her eyebrows furrowed together with fear.

Will stared back at her, his eyes stop-starting across her small face. For a quick, painful second, his agitated mind replaced Antonia's olive-skinned form with an image of Annabelle, of what she would look like at that age: her blond curls falling down her shoulders, her cheeks high and sculpted, her lips pink and curved. It lasted only a second, but it frightened him to imagine his own daughter in her place, and the obvious realization that Antonia was nothing but a child hit him forcefully for the first time since he had met her.

"You're going to be okay, 'Toni," he said, his tone rougher than he had anticipated it would be. He had never used that nickname for her himself; he had heard Pilar, Zach, Tyler, Sam, and Mikaela use it, occasionally more often than they used her real name, but he had not believed that he knew her well enough to do so.

The corner of her mouth twitched, as though she was fighting back a small smile. She said nothing, but stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Will's waist in an unexpected, desperate hug. He remained frozen, taken by complete surprise, before relaxing enough to return it.

Her cheek was pressed against his uniform, muffling her words, and although she spoke softly, he was still able to hear her.

"You've risked your life to protect mine, my mother's, my friends'. No matter what happens tonight, to any of us, I will never forget what you've done." Her hold around him tightened fleetingly, and then loosened. "Thank you."

He was not able to reply. She roughly pulled herself away from him as he processed her words, and he could only watch as she stiffly crept back to the group, the gun pressed tightly to her chest.

The trend that Antonia had unknowingly started continued. Mikaela, after being handed her weapon, leaned forward and gave him a hug, as did Pilar. Sam, Zach and Tyler did as well, their embraces quick and unsure, but kind; Tyler's was all the more awkward because he had Sam and Zach struggle to hold him up on his one unbroken leg while he crushed Will into the warmth of his muscle. While he appreciated these indications of affection, perhaps more than his friends realized, he did not know if they were meant to wish him good luck, or if they were meant as individual good byes.

_If these are good byes,_ he thought, his eyes locked on Sam's, Tyler's, and Zach's receding forms as they returned to the others, _am I saying good bye to them, or are they saying good bye to me?_

He decided that he didn't want to know.

After closing and locking the door of the truck bed, Will maneuvered himself over the rubble and toward the driver's side of the cab, his booted feet skirting loudly across the loose detritus. Upon reaching it, he turned toward the others one, final time.

Antonia stood between her mother and Sam, Telebot settled at her feet. Next to Pilar was Tyler, packed back into his wheelchair, which was a little worse-for-wear but still performing its main function, and Zach, who stood behind his older friend with his hands resting on the handlebars of the chair. Mikaela stood beside Sam, her fingers intertwined through his own. The Autobots kept close guard, their various weapons at the ready.

Each pair of eyes and optics were locked on his face.

Without thinking, he pressed his heels together, locked his legs, tucked one arm against his side, stiffened his shoulders, and raised his free hand to present his spectators with an impromptu salute. This was returned by each of the Autobots, who regally bowed their heads in his direction, and each of the charges, who erupted into sudden shouts of approval and well wishes, for him, for Robert, for Grayson, for Ironhide. Their reaction was just as unexpected as his salute was, and like Antonia's hug, it took him by pleasant surprise.

Even as he clamored into the driver's seat, his face flushing in the heavy darkness, the applause continued, somehow louder than before despite the thickness of the window glass that separated his friends from him. He couldn't help but continue to watch the others, bouncing and clapping, in his guardian's rear view mirror. He had never received a send-off quite like this one, so unrestrained, so reassuring, so strong, and he wanted to bask in it as long as he could. Maybe, if he did, it would grant him enough good luck to return home and find them just as he was leaving them: alive.

Their voices played in his head long after they themselves had faded into the darkness, and he clung to each one like a life preserver as Ironhide trundled toward the hulking, shadowed mass of Mission City. _Be strong. Stay safe. Come home. This will all be over soon._

_We love you._

_

* * *

_

"Look at me."

Despite the numerous walls of layered metal, despite the incredible desert darkness, he could see each of them almost perfectly, the outlines of their small bodies lit from the heat of their human sparks. To Diesel, the Autobot charges resembled living lanterns: at their beating core, their light was a bright yellow, a near white that darkened into a throbbing orange and, at the edges, a violent red. He watched the creatures as they moved, the fire within their chests leaving afterimages that faded quickly into obscurity whenever they so much as shifted their arms or turned their heads. Although he was incapable of acknowledging and naming exactly what he felt as he tracked his victims with his unblinking, faded optics, they intrigued him; their warmth was not something he had seen before. His creator, despite the fact that he was, or had been, a human being himself, did not glow as the others of his race did. The Cybertronians did not either, for their presence he registered only as brilliant, unwavering orbs, blue or red depending on their allegiance. Ironically, it was only upon the final stretch of Thomas's bitter hunt for his enemies that Diesel realized that the beings of the planet on which he was sparked were remarkably beautiful.

_Look at me._

He had been able to ignore Thomas's voice when he had spoken aloud easily enough, but he was unable to ignore his creator when he brusquely invaded his thoughts through the obscure connection that strung them together. A sigh escaping the rusted grill of his mouth in whispers of smoke, Diesel's enormous helm creaked as he turned to face the trembling, skeletal beast that demanded his attention, lowering himself so that he and Thomas were more or less eye-level.

The Locomoticon released a low hiss as Thomas reached out with his bony hand, gripped one of his facial plates and pulled him roughly forward, his surprising strength causing Diesel to falter before the cyborg's tattered feet. _You will not ignore me again, _Thomas instructed coldly, probing Diesel with mental jabs sharp enough to cause him to moan low within his chassis. _Not when we're this close to finishing what we started._

_Yes-s, c-c-creator, _Diesel stuttered, retreating as soon as Thomas released him from his grasp. His optics were wide with animalistic caution. _It will not happen a-a-a-gain._

_I should hope not, because, despite my best efforts, I have been unable to completely forgive you for allowing Optimus Prime to slip away. _What remained of Thomas's lips twitched into a bloodied, mocking smile, his unbalanced gaze resting fixedly upon Diesel's face. _You have already failed me once. To fail me again because you were too busy_ ignoring _me would result in my abandoning you to the Autobots and allowing them to do with you what they will. _

_You are replaceable, and you would do best to remember that._

Before Diesel was able to respond to this, the frightening smirk disappeared, Thomas's expression twisting into a nervous scowl as he observed his creation with an incredible amount of concentration. The change in temperament was so quick, Diesel could not help but allow it to pass without comment.

_Do you remember what Antonia looks like? _Thomas asked.

The inquiry came as a quizzical, unwelcome surprise, and after a moment of haphazardly wracking his processor, Diesel mulishly shook his helm, his dull optics failing to meet Thomas's own. If he were to delve into detail, it would be discovered that he did not even recall the mention of Antonia, let alone what she looked like. If he _did _know of her, it was by some other name, for her face failed to rise to the surface of the murky, chaotic depths of his consciousness.

Yet another emotion that he could not label swept through him, caused him to fidget with discomfort.

It was shame.

Thomas's scowl deepened, and Diesel flinched as one of his creator's more vibrant memories was shoved carelessly into him through their mental connection. The effigy tumbling into his processor as if it were a ball that had been tossed to him, the Locomoticon immediately caught, stared, at the image, transfixed by the human being that he was to capture, trying desperately to commit her every detail into his memory. He was barely listening as Thomas spoke to him once again.

_I want you to do everything in your power to bring Antonia to me alive,_ he instructed. _You use whoever you have to, you destroy whatever you have to, and you _kill _anyone who stands in your way. But do not be distracted, do not waver, and, above all else, do not hurt that girl. _That smile, bloodied, dangerous, and ugly, had returned, but it went unnoticed. _Only_ I _will have the pleasure of inflicting pain upon her._

Diesel's response was as automatic, as expected, as the reflexive kick that follows the tap of a doctor's rubber hammer against the knee: _Yes, Creator._

Relatively satisfied, the humorless grin that was spread between Thomas's tattered cheeks melted into an expression of trusting camaraderie that one might have witnessed grace his features when he had still been Thomas Richard Duke, the U.S Secretary of Defense. _Good,_ he replied simply. His hand, shredded to the very bone but still as small and as delicate as any other human hand, reached out and pressed against the Locomoticon's rusted grill. The mental connection between them strengthened momentarily, fueled by the physical pathway that existed between their bodies, before fading to the deep roar of their combined, subconscious ocean as Thomas let his arm return to his side. _Good._

His final command came as he turned away from the enormous robot, already preoccupied with thoughts and theories entirely too complicated for Diesel to even attempt to unravel. _Come, _his voice whispered, sinuous as a snake's, diaphanous as a ghost's, restless and hungry. _The time to strike is now._

Diesel hesitated, Antonia's image remaining fixated within his processor for a silent, thoughtful moment more before being tucked away into his deepest, most secretive recesses. It was a strange gesture, as though Diesel intended to return to this memory eventually, as though he did not believe he would be dead within a matter of hours.

It was hidden before he was able to register that the effigy had slipped from his mental grasp, and by this time, he was already trundling after Thomas, a hulking shadow anchored to the feet of its small, wavering form. His blocky feet slipping and skittering clumsily up the shadowed sand dunes, Diesel's dull gaze was focused on the husk of the Autobot base and he noticed nothing but each bumbling, shuffling step he took.

Antonia was forgotten, and would be until his search for her truly began.

The image that Thomas had presented his dutiful creation with was a subconscious snapshot that he had taken seconds before Antonia had launched herself at him. In it, the weary girl was hugging her mother, but her expressive, crackling eyes were focused on _him_, peering at Thomas from over her mother's shoulder. Nothing except those eyes, supposedly filled with the acidic, gleeful hatred Thomas had determined had made him the way he was, was visible, accompanied only by a shock of black, spiky hair.

It was Pilar who dominated the image. Despite the fact that her back was turned toward Thomas, her head was tilted against her daughter's, giving him a perfect profile of her face.

It was Pilar Marez who's every detail Diesel committed to memory.


	42. Chapter XLII

**Spitfire**

_Chapter XLII_

_Why won't you answer me?_

Antonia was aware, subconsciously, that her facial expression must seem strange; with her lips pressed into a thin, fine line, her jaw clenched, her nose drawn up, her eyes squeezed shut, and her eyebrows narrowed, she could feel how tightly those muscles were clenched. She could feel the tips of her fingers burying themselves into the upholstered car seat upon which she was sitting, and she could feel Optimus Prime's subtle reactions to the irritation she knew that she must be bringing him. She could _feel_ all of this, some of which she knew that her fellow passengers could not.

But she could hear nothing.

_What is your goddamned deal?_ she hissed, the words appearing unexpectedly and forcefully within her mind. _You can't keep your mouth shut when I_ don't _want to talk to you, but when I need you here, you're nowhere to be found! Why are you ignoring me?_

Her heart beating rapidly and painfully within her chest, she could not control the way her anger unexpectedly collapsed into the desperation that seeped so quickly into her tone, or the way her mental grasp reached out beseechingly. _Where have you been?_

In the two weeks that she, Telebot, her mother, Zach and Tyler had spent under the Autobots' watch, she had more or less forgotten about the All Spark. The time had, however surprising it sounded, seemed more like a vacation than an imprisonment: she, Zach and Tyler had quickly become friends with Sam and Mikaela as well as their respective guardians, the group of them goofing off together whenever they had the chance. She had noticed that even her mother, when not quietly flitting around her like a nervous butterfly, would disappear with Optimus Prime or visit Ratchet in the medical bay. It was almost as though _this_, learning about and becoming close to enormous, robotic aliens and the people who spent the most time with them, was the reprieve and not the disaster, whereas the life she and her mother had shared before was what had been painful and so frighteningly fragile. In fact, it was here, in the Autobot base, that she had first heard Pilar laugh in what seemed like too long of a time: a soft giggle that had intercepted one of Ratchet's ramblings and had caused him to chuckle as well. She remembered coming to an abrupt halt, her eyes widening with surprise as she heard it waft from the open door. She also remembered the silly curl of a smile that had remained stuck on her face for the duration of that day.

Although her fears of Thomas, the Locomoticons, the Decepticons, and what they could be doing had not dissipated, being so unusually happy these past few days had dulled those uncomfortable feelings. It was so easy to forget about everything that was happening outside of the metal walls of the Autobot base due to how secluded it was, and the Autobots themselves had not made much mention of what they believed their enemies' plans to be, at least not that she had been around to hear. Despite Ratchet's earlier assurances, they had not asked of the All Spark shards much, either. She would have thought this was unusual if she had given herself time to think, but she hadn't. All she had done was _forget_, forget about everything in every way possible. Most importantly, she had forgotten about the All Spark.

And now, _like a petulant child,_ she thought viciously, it was refusing to speak to her.

Flexing her mental connection with the All Spark as strongly as she could, Antonia reached for its presence, which she could feel still residing within her, and began to search for some way in. It did not feel as it had before, when it had seemed like a sponge: soaking up her thoughts without her having to direct them, open to her through so many pores. It had since retracted in on itself, drawing its being into a small, smooth ball, its protective surface as tough as that of any rock's.

_Why are you doing this to me? Why now?_ she cried, her subconscious touch scratching at it to no avail. _Did you choose me only as a body to die in?_

No answer.

_I need your help!_ You _were the one who told me that_ you _chose me to end this, right? You didn't mean for me to do this alone! I m-mean, if you helped me, I could defeat Thomas! He's not human anymore, but with_ you _inside of me, neither am I! I need to be able to stop him when he comes!_ Her mental cry had become a wail, her scratches poundings. _I...I c-can't let anyone die!_

A new thought, something she had not realized before, exploded within her head, and she clung to it with numbing relief. _Are...Are you saving up your strength? Are you afraid that we don't have enough to defeat him? Is that it?_ While she knew that this option, too, was not exactly good, if it was true, it would mean that the All Spark had not deserted her. _It means I could still -_

_I am not afraid that, combined, we do not have enough energy to overpower the cyborg._

Antonia jerked, physically and mentally, upon hearing its voice. Quickly searching the All Spark once again, she realized that it had still not opened itself up to her the way it had before. But it was speaking to her, and that was better than nothing at all.

She hesitated a moment before she was able to reply. _Then what are you doing?_

_I am afraid,_ it continued, as though it had not heard her speak, _that we have too much energy, and I am afraid of what you might_ do _with that energy, Antonia. Although you have assured me that you will do whatever it takes to ensure the survival of the Cybertronian race, you are still young. You are also, even with me residing within you, a human being: volatile, unexpected, and temperamental. Because of these two factors, and because of who you are, I have come to the conclusion that the promise that you made to me is not enough; that under certain circumstances, you will mistake one life as having the worth of an infinite amount of others. _

_I cannot let you make that mistake._

_I am sorry, Sparkchild._ With absent acknowledgment, Antonia realized that its words rang true; it _was_ sorry. _But until the time comes..._

Her facial features loosened then, the raw strength within her fisted hands leaking away, leaving her feeling limp and weak. Her eyes opened, seemingly of their own accord, and she lowered the gaze to rest on her arms, her wrists, her outstretched palms and her splayed fingers.

The bright, blue light within the All Spark shards blinked once, and then flickered out.

_You are on your own._

_

* * *

_

The trip into the base's interior had been a silent one.

After giving another glance-over to reassure that none of the charges had been wounded, Optimus Prime had come to a weighted decision. He would carry Antonia, Pilar, Telebot, Zachary, Tyler, Sam and Mikaela within his cab instead of dividing them between their guardians. Bumblebee and Jazz would lead, Hound and Ratchet would follow, and he would be situated between the two pairs; their caravan would be, he hoped, protected from all sides. Although it would take but one well-aimed punch to crush each of the human beings within him, he believed it was highly unlikely that any of the Locomoticons, being what they were, would be able to aim that well. As for the Decepticons, Soundwave and Barricade wanted to capture Antonia, not destroy her.

He also believed that Thomas would not come rampaging into the base with only one Locomoticon, even if that one was Diesel. No, he would come completely prepared, and that would mean bringing every addition he had at his disposal. With such a team, it would not matter who the charges were with. Each Autobot would be attacked, and each human being would be in danger.

With all of their charges in one spot, an escape, if needed, would be easier to maneuver.

His decision, when spoken aloud, had been absently received. If anyone had disagreed with it, their reactions were unnoticeable: each organic face had been bleached white with fear, identical in their distress, while the Autobots wore the carefully constructed expressions that he had seen so many times before: battle-ready ones that betrayed nothing. As they had before, they did what was commanded of them and they did it well. Arguments were rare.

It had been a tight squeeze, but after a little fidgeting and grumbling, the charges had arranged themselves as comfortably as they could within his cab: Sam sitting behind the wheel with Mikaela beside him, Zachary between her and Antonia, who held Telebot on her lap, with Pilar settled at her side and Tyler the closest to the window. It was in this fashion, with Bumblebee and Jazz leading the way, and Ratchet and Hound bringing up the rear, that he, his soldiers, and their human companions had left the ruined weapon's chamber to come here, the base's core.

The center of the base was an empty room with two doorways, one of the many that had not yet been given a use. He had chosen it because there was no way that Thomas and his creations could somehow crash through its walls directly from the desert outside. They would have to first claw their way into the base itself, and _then_ they would have to find them. He knew that it would be relatively easy to find them, their spark signatures detectable even if those of their enemies were not, but without the sand dunes to soften their enormous steps, the clumsy Locomoticons would be heard well before they would be seen. This, factoring in the lack of light and their knowledge of the mapping of their base, he believed would help to result in an Autobot victory.

With each quiet second that passed, however, he began to wonder if he had been mistaken.

There had been _nothing_, no hint of anyone's presence. No movement, no noises, no spark signatures detected, even for a single, revealing moment. The silence, the darkness he had thought he could use to his advantage, were unnerving in their intensities and their failures to bring any clues to the surface. He could see the headlights of his soldiers trained on both of the entryways, but those lights brought forth the architecture of the hallways and not the rough, unfinished forms of the Locomoticons he had thought he would see. It was all perfectly ordinary, and that was what made it strange.

_This is not what I had expected,_ he thought to himself, feeling the first coils of discomfort worm their way into his processor. _And in situations such as these, it does not fare well to be wrong._

An unexpected annoyance returned him to reality, and he quickly directed his attention to the inside of his cab. It was there that the irritation was, a sort of tight, ticklish sensation, and after a moment, he realized that it was Antonia who was causing it. Her facial expression had become contorted, twisting into something almost wicked in appearance, and her fingernails were digging deeply into his upholstery, her hands trembling with a surprising amount of strength.

Before he was able to fully comprehend what she was doing, an enormous crackling noise erupted from what he imagined must be the entrance to the base, diverting his attention yet again. From their places posted around him, Bumblebee, Jazz, Hound and Ratchet stiffened, their defensive stances deepening, their helmeted heads cocked forward. The human beings had become still, their eyes so wide that they seemed to swallow their faces, bleaching away whatever color had returned while they had been waiting.

This happened to everyone, except for Antonia.

The crackling, an ugly sound punctuated by savage roars that were without set pitch and screams of grinding metal, continued for about ten seconds before fading. It was replaced by the hefty stomp of Locomoticon feet as they finished crumbling the wall of the Autobot base and stepped into the building itself, each foot step as loud as some inconceivable drum. Even with the countless rooms and hallways that lay between him and the Locomoticons, the Decepticons, he could hear their clicks and clunks, their attempted words, the rusted protests as they forced their rough bodies to transform; the slams and hollow rings as the invaders began to make their way deeper into the base, knocking each other into the walls and pushing one another to the floors in their haste.

|_Optimus Prime, they know that we're here,_| Jazz stated, his voice ringing through their communications link. |_Don't seem like us hidin' out is stoppin' 'em much; they can still sense our signatures even if we can't sense their's. It may've bought us time, but from the sound of it, they'll be here in less than a minute._|

His second-in-command suddenly dropped his gaze from where it had rested on the doorway and directed it toward him. If Jazz had spoken aloud, he would not have been able to hear him. The stomps, the roars, the shrieks, the chaos of the mindless creatures flooding their halls and converging on the base's core would have drowned out every attempt to converse. Although the echoing of the various, empty chambers had obviously enhanced the sound of the Locomoticon and Decepticon descent, perhaps making it seem that they had twice as many recruits as any amount he could have guessed, somehow, Optimus Prime was no longer sure that this was a battle that could be won.

In Jazz's posture, in his tone, in the weight of his gaze, Optimus knew that he, too, felt this way. The slim, silver Autobot nodded once. |_I think you should go._|

Although he wanted to do that exactly that (_I cannot let the Decepticons retrieve the All Spark, I cannot let our human friends become their victims, I cannot -_) it was as though he was rooted to the ground.

In that moment, he could hear every detail of the Locomoticons' and the Decepticons' approach, their enemies so confident in their soon-to-be victory that they had made no attempt to conceal themselves. He could hear each and every frantic beat of his charges' hearts, the frightened inhale and exhale of their breathing. He could see the indistinct outline of his soldiers, their tense stances and drawn weapons. He could see the hands of the human beings within him linked, like a chain, squeezing one another's hard enough to stop the flow of blood. Mikaela and Pilar had both closed their eyes, their eyebrows curled into worried arches; they each had an expression plastered on their pale faces that made it seem as though they were working themselves up to the acceptance of a final blow.

He caught a hold of himself the instance before Antonia released a gasp. Although the image of Mikaela and Pilar remained burning within his processor, his optics were no longer focused on his charges, and he did not see the lights within the All Spark shards fade into darkness.

Optimus Prime pulled away from his place at the center of the room even as the enormous shadows detached themselves from the entryway and launched into the chamber, their heavy bodies skittering across the floor, sending up tidal waves of bright, white sparks. A swarm of ebony forms shoved past one another, clawing at the walls of the single entrance from which they were pouring out of even as their predecessors pounced upon Bumblebee and Jazz with the clumsy strength that he had seen Diesel perform with, doing the same to Ratchet and Hound as the two skittered away from the empty entrance that they had been guarding in order to aid their comrades. They were soon enveloped in a sea of black, rusted hulks, and Optimus Prime lost sight of them as quickly as if they had been swallowed up by the floor.

The battle had, within a matter of seconds, become noise, nothing but rampaging, ugly noise. Screams, screeches, roars, howls, explosions, crackings, poundings. It was noise within his cab, distraught yowls as the charges searched for their guardians and scrambled over each other, pressing their faces and their fingers to his windows. It was noise within the room, expanding and exploding, sucking everyone and everything into its destructive power as the mass entity of Locomoticon, Decepticon and Autobot moved and twitched, the flashes of color that were his soldiers fading to black as quickly as they appeared in the enormous fray.

|_Optimus Prime!_| Jazz's voice wept into their communications link. |_Run! Run now!_|

With a sharp turn, he curved away from the battle and blasted through the empty entrance, his tires screaming against the metal floorboards and the charges tumbling around inside of his cab as he made his escape. Jazz's words had jarred something within him, anchoring him back to the ground and returning to him his sense of purpose. Swerving around the corner and speeding as fast as he dared down the hallway, his link with Jazz abruptly ending, he realized how close he had been to bringing ruin to everything they had worked so hard to protect.

It had been so long since he had frozen up that way, unable to move, unable to think. _Why now?_ he wondered warily. _Why did it have to be now?_

Tyler Eller's voice, hoarse, choked and high-pitched with fear, cracked as he gripped the dashboard and searched for Optimus Prime's optics, drawing the Autobot's invisible gaze to his pale face.

"Optimus!" he cried, the tips of his fingers beginning to whiten. "We're being followed!"


	43. Chapter XLIII

**Spitfire**  
_Chapter XLIII_

"Where _is _everyone?"

The sound of Grayson Leigh's voice cracking apart the silence forced a nervous jump from William Lennox. It was the first time that Grayson, or anyone else for that matter, had spoken since the ruined Autobot base had faded into obscurity behind their small caravan, and his unexpected question had taken Will by uneasy surprise. The darkness was too complete, the lack of noise too unnerving, for the seasoned soldier to be anything but acutely aware, poised to both attack and to defend. His senses were tweaked in such a way he had not experienced since their previous battle in Mission City.

Glancing at Grayson over his shoulder from the driver's seat, Will observed the younger man, who was peering out Ironhide's rear window, for a moment, then shrugged. "It's nearly three o'clock in the morning," he replied, turning to face forward once again, his gloved fingers tightening reflexively around the Cybertronian plasma cannon he held clasped between his hands. "That's more than late enough for most people to have turned out their lights already. Not many would've noticed a power outage, and those are common enough to be more or less ignored anyway."

Grayson waved a hand dismissively. "That I can understand," he concurred. "What I can't understand is how anyone could've _ignored_ the earthquake. That was way too loud and too destructive to sleep through." Despite the darkness, Will could see Grayson's confused expression, his eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully, reflected in the rear-view mirror. "Whenever something of this caliber happens, people go outside and wander around, check on each other, their neighbors, and yet...all these streets we've gone down are deserted."

"Look around, kid." Robert Epps gestured toward the windows, toward the shadowed apartments, deserted factories and empty lots that passed by in a blur of blue, gray and black. "Do you see any destruction here? Any collapsed buildings, busted street lights, overturned cars?"

Before Grayson could reply, Ironhide elaborated on Epp's behalf. "I believe what he is trying to say is that all that Mission City may have experienced _was _a power outage," Ironhide stated as he carefully navigated another turn. "If our guesses are correct, the electromagnetic pulse originated from somewhere within the city itself. The waves were powerful enough to wipe out the city's electricity, but only gained strength as they passed through the city's interior. Because we are so far from the city's center, we may have received the strongest, and most likely only, physical damage."

Sighing heftily, Grayson slumped low in his seat. "So what you're saying is that there's a pretty good chance that we dragged ourselves all the way out here for absolutely nothing?"

Ironhide's alternative form rippled awkwardly as he somehow managed to shrug. "It is possible, yes."

Will too sighed, feeling his highly-strung senses loosen as he gradually began to relax. "I figured as much, but I wanted to be sure..." he said quietly, placing his weapon upon his lap instead of holding it clutched against his chest. "I guess we ought to do a quick run-through of the city anyway, and then head back to the base in case we're needed."

The seat belt tucked around his waist tightened momentarily, his guardian's simple attempt to comfort him. Ironhide's physical reassurances were few and far between, usually nothing more than a nudge to the back of the head, but they were carefully timed and full of more meaning than Will supposed constant physical reassurances would be. "You made the right decision," his guardian stated soundly. "To have not come to Mission City would have left us wondering and possibly in a great deal of - "

The Autobot depressed his brakes so quickly, so unexpectedly, it was as though he and his three occupants had struck an invisible, brick wall. Will was thrown forward against the steering wheel, juggling his plasma cannon in an attempt to keep it from slipping from his grasp, hissing as he felt it bounce between his legs before clunking noisily to the floor. Beside him, Robert Epps let loose a venomous stream of curses, rubbing his head after being knocked into Ironhide's dashboard; Grayson, fortunately, had been able to stop himself from slamming headfirst into the Topkick's rear window, which he had still been glancing out of as though expecting to see something sinister lurking in the fading afterglow of Ironhide's headlights.

Before Will could question his guardian about his sudden, rather painful halt, he felt thickly-gloved fingers wrap themselves around his wrist. Glancing up at Robert, he shivered slightly upon seeing how wide his friend's eyes had become, how tensely his jaw was set. "Rob - "

Robert's free hand suddenly clapped itself around Will's mouth, muffling his words before he could manage to speak the rest of his sentence aloud. "Shut. _Up_," he whispered, his gaze, unbelievably agitated, focused on the shadow-slated windshield. Digging the tips of his fingers into Will's cheeks, gripping his jaw so tightly that it was almost painful, he slowly turned his head until he too was facing the windshield.

Crouched mere feet away, on the very edges of the identical, circular globes of light that shone from Ironhide's headlamps and lay splashed across the pavement, was a Locomoticon. Despite the darkness, Will could see that it was much smaller than Diesel, but just as thick; its body was plump with armor that was rusted the hue of dried blood. A further quick, silent inspection suggested that it did not walk as Diesel did, either. From the way it was stooped, with its rear limbs, abnormally elongated, pressed to the ground and its front limbs, one tucked against its heavily plated chest and the other brushing the asphalt, shorter and leaner, Will guessed that it skittered and scuttled along the ground the way a rabbit might.

The Locomoticon observed the Topkick for what seemed to be a millennium, but Will supposed was only an excruciatingly long minute or so. Then, blinking its empty, yellow optics, it slowly scampered from the edge of the lights and into a nearby alley, moving in the liquid, rabbit-like way Will had predicted it would. As different from Diesel as it appeared to be, however, the small Locomoticon was just as ridiculously clumsy as its half-sparked leader. He could hear it slam and slip into various metal dumpsters, ripping through whatever bags of trash it happened to stumble upon.

The noises of the Locomoticon's escape had barely begun to fade when Grayson clicked the lock of his own Cybertronian-range firearm off, causing Will and Robert, who had since released the former from his frightened grip, to turn around, meet his gaze.

"You made the right decision," Grayson said softly, echoing Ironhide's earlier statement.

Robert nodded and, a dangerous smile playing upon his lips, grasped the stock of his heavy weapon and cocked it confidently across his chest. "Seems as though the season's officially open." Both he and Grayson looked to Will, their eyes twinkling with what an old commander of his had once termed "the killin' fever". "What do you say, boss-man?"

Will leaned forward, twined his gloved fingers around the steering wheel; at his touch, Ironhide's engine revved once, ferociously. Hungrily.

"Let's go hunting, boys."

* * *

Panic was an ever-rising ocean within him, enormous waves of daunting ebony slowly, steadily crashing against the crumbling walls his sanity had built, brick by desperate brick.

An electromagnetic pulse had rippled through Mission City, wiping out everything and anything electric, leaving the Autobot base both without power and in complete shambles. Thomas Duke, leading a combined Locomoticon-Deception force, had forced his way into the base and was currently engaging _his_ entire faction in destructive hand-to-hand combat. He had lost communication with Jazz and, moments ago, with Ironhide, who had driven William Lennox, Robert Epps, and Grayson Leigh into Mission City, where he had no idea what was happening to them and, more importantly, could not request for their quick return and much-needed aid. He had absolutely no way to get in touch with Johnathon Keller, Seymour Simmons, or the rest of the small but incredibly effective human task force that had been designed to help the Autobots in whatever ways possible. Although most of Ironhide's human-sized, Cybertronian-range weaponry had been lost in the pulse's aftermath, and what was left of it had been handed out to charges who had little to no experience with the firearms, the task force, being a secret branch of the U.S Army, _did_ have access to heavy weaponry that had wounded, and destroyed, Decepticons before. As Optimus Prime began to bury that impossibly dire list within an unreachable mental fold deep enough to hide it, he prayed, _to the All Spark? the human's God? Who is listening? I'll pray to you..._, that someone, Keller, Simmons, the President of the United States, _someone_ would realize that the power outage and its destructive aftermath could be a potential attack, especially when the Autobots did not make themselves known.

Pray: all he could about the prospect of receiving help was _pray_, not only because that matter was out of his hands but also because he had closer, deadlier problems to deal with.

The biggest of these problems was Soundwave.

Even before the infamous Decepticon had mockingly tugged away whatever technological fog had hidden his spark's presence, Optimus Prime had known it was him. Who else would stalk him, silently and patiently, through the darkened hallways of his own, ruined base, carrying the most precious of cargo and without a coherent plan? Who else would prey this playfully upon him, amused by his panicked antics the way a cat would be with a mouse? Who else, except Soundwave, Megatron's loyal pet, unwavering lackey, impassive mercenary?

No matter the number of hours that passed, no matter the countless times he followed Optimus Prime through the maze of the Autobot base, Soundwave would wait, as composed as he always was, had always been. He was well-aware of the fact that the Autobot leader was scrambling, was slipping, was falling...and he was enjoying every miserable second.

Optimus Prime knew that the only way to be rid of Soundwave was to confront him, fight him, destroy him; at this point, poised on the edge of nervous fury, he wanted nothing more than to rip the Decepticon's stunted, ugly spark from his chassis and crush it within his fist. To do that, however, he would have to be assured of the safety of his charges for the amount of time, hopefully incredibly short, it took him to scrap Soundwave.

_Impossible,_ a voice, small and sad, unexpectedly admitted from within his processor. _Their assured safety ended the moment they entered the Autobot base, fell under your care and the care of your soldiers._

_I promised their parents, I promised their families, I promised_ them_...I promised to protect my charges! I promised!_ he retorted desperately. Despite this statement, he felt himself losing the mental battle as quickly as he and his soldiers had begun to lose the real one.

After a silent, painful, thoughtful moment, Optimus Prime realized that he was experiencing his first episode of dry drowning. He was treading so deeply, but there was no water in sight.

That voice, still small, still sad, became suddenly and unequivocally merciless. _You have already broken your promise._

* * *

At first, she thought that she was mistaken.

Her eyes were playing cruel tricks on her over-wrought mind; it was ridiculous, she said to herself, digging the tips of her trembling fingers into his upholstery, to think that Optimus Prime was _slowing down_. After glancing around at the other's faces and witnessing the same panicked confusion etched onto their expressions, it soon became apparent to her, however, that her eyes were not playing any tricks.

Pilar's heart beat quickened until it became a painful rhythm, the organ nearly ricocheting in unrelenting terror within her chest. "Optimus Prime..." she whispered hysterically, her vision blurring. "What are you _doing?_"

Her guardian did not answer her.

She could feel a thick curtain of pure horror slowly descend within the cab, strangling them, all of them, raising goosebumps from their skin, leeching their cheeks of color. Silence prevailed, uncomfortably thick, as Optimus Prime abruptly turned a corner into one of the base's many empty rooms, crossed it until he reached its opposite end. It was only after he carefully turned himself around Pilar noticed that the Decepticon who had been their creeping, crawling shadow had also stopped, and was facing Optimus Prime from across the enormous, barren room.

Sam was the first to speak, his voice oddly calm, his expression utterly blank. "What is he waiting for?" he asked softly, as though reluctant to shatter the silence.

"He is waiting for me to release all of you so that I am able to transform," Optimus Prime replied, his quiet, emotionless tone echoing Sam's own. "To battle with him."

"_Release_ us?" Mikaela squeaked breathlessly, gripping Sam's hand in one of her own and Zachary's hand in her other. Her eyes sparkled with ferocious hysteria. "What are we going to do while you and Soundwave beat the motherfucking _Hell_ out of each other, Optimus? Sit there and watch? Cheer you on?"

If her words, hurled at the Autobot like poison-tipped darts, affected him, he did not show it. "You are going to run."

An audible hiss of escaping air echoed throughout the cab as the charges collectively deflated.

"We are going to run," Pilar repeated, beginning to feel as detached as a helium balloon escaping into the sky.

"_Where?_" Zachary questioned. His eyes were nothing more than twin, dark caves carved into taut skin of his face, his gaze stop-starting around the cab as he searched for Optimus's optics, and failed.

"Anywhere." Optimus Prime unlocked both of his doors; the small, insignificant sounds caused each charge to jump with despairing surprise. "You must pair off, escape in groups of twos. It will be harder for Soundwave, or anyone else, to capture you when your group is split apart in such a way."

"What other options do we have?" Tyler implored, his eyebrows furrowed with desperation.

"There _are_ no other options!" Optimus Prime replied suddenly, roughly, nearly snarling with despair. "Do you think I would ever resort to _this_, to _abandonin_g you, if I had even a _single_ _other option?_"

Without waiting for a reply, he threw his doors open as wide as was possible.

"Run!" he cried, hoarsely, deeply. The urgency of his command sparked something within the charges, caused them to leap from his cab quickly and nimbly. "Run as fast as you possibly can! If you are able to do so, hide; do _not_ attack Thomas, the Locomoticons, or the Decepticons directly if you can help it! Use your weaponry only if you absolutely need to! _Remember how clumsy the half-sparks are!_" As his final words echoed throughout the enormous chamber, Optimus Prime began to transform.

Even from where she stood, in spite of his quickly-shifting parts, Pilar could see her guardian tremble.

For a single, terrifying moment, Antonia, who was clutching Telebot, her mother, Sam, Mikaela, Zachary, and Tyler remained standing in a loose circle, meeting each other's gazes desperately, beseechingly. As Optimus Prime, fully transformed with his mouth guard in place and his sword at the ready, barked another, breathless "_RUN!_", the seven of them scattered, falling into the tiny groups they had chosen without speaking. Zachary and Tyler, speeding madly along in his wheelchair, escaped through the left doorway; Sam and Mikaela, their hands intertwined, scampered through the right; and Antonia, Telebot, and Pilar ran clumsily through the door that lay between the other two. The charges disappeared within a matter of seconds, the obscurity of the base swallowing up their insignificant silhouettes.

Optimus Prime had barely turned to face Soundwave, the Decepticon still mid-transformation, when he noticed three ugly, pointed shadows detach themselves from the thick darkness that surrounded the entrance closest to Soundwave, crouching beside him, ducking into the corners. As these shadows began to slither quickly and effortlessly along the walls, he realized, with suffocating dread, who they were.

"_NO!_" he roared, slashing out indiscriminately with his sword, watching as the shadows cawed mocking laughter, ducked his feeble attempts to wound, to stop. He moaned weakly as an unidentifiable Locomoticon galloped after Zachary and Tyler, Barricade charged behind Sam and Mikaela, and Diesel, his yellow, empty optics as emotionless as ever, stalked past him, searching for Antonia, Telebot, and Pilar.

His spark tugging him three separate ways at once, Optimus Prime was ill-prepared for Soundwave's approach, not noticing the drawing of his cannon, the ugly shine of his visor.

_You have failed, Autobot._

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_

It has been such an incredibly long time since I've updated this fanfiction with another chapter (according to , I haven't touched it since last August...Whoops! ;x). However, after seeing Transformers: Dark of the Moon, my love for Transformers has been revived! I'm hoping to continue to update this fanfiction every few days or so, finish the fanfiction itself within a week or two, and begin to work on the second fanfiction soon after that. Once again, this is a hope, but it's one I'd like to stick around for awhile. c; I didn't realize how much I had missed writing.

As for this chapter, I'm not sure what happened. Last night, I experienced a writing frenzy and worked at this until nearly 5 o'clock this morning - - - at the time, I was completely and utterly happy with it. Reading through it tonight, I wasn't as crazy about it as I was originally, thinking that it was missing something but unable to identify what. :c So, if this chapter isn't up to the usual standards (I'm unsure of how high those standards are...XD") I'm sorry! As I said earlier, it's been awhile since I've last written. I think I've become a bit rusty. Bear with me! c;

On a final note, I'd like to thank all of my readers who have been waiting on me very patiently to write these last chapters. Seriously, **thank you so much **for sticking with me through every hiatus, re-write and sudden stack of corrections, and for encouraging me on with pleasant reviews and sweet comments. Whether you believe it or not, all of the positive, constructive feedback really makes my day so much better.

Once again, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. (=


	44. Chapter XLIV

**Spitfire**  
_Chapter XLIV_

His heart was a resonant tribal drum beating rhythmically within his chest, throbbing against his ribcage in a way he considered almost pleasant. His senses were tweaked, no longer uncomfortably so but to an unbelievable perfection; he could see, despite the thin, trickling glimmer of the moon, the individual cracks within the brick walls of apartment buildings and the shadowed carcasses of insects trapped inside each sputtering street light he stalked beneath. He was acutely aware of his movements, every silent step he made poised to land not on a shattered glass bottle or a stray scrap of tin foil, but beside it.

_I have never felt more alive,_he thought, the voice of his subconscious echoing distantly and dripping with more truth than he believed possible.

It had been an incredibly long time, nearly a year, since he had played a major, physical role in a man hunt such as this one. William Lennox could not have imagined how much he would miss the rush of the chase, the adrenaline eking through the network of his veins, seeping into his muscles, tightening, strengthening, refining. It was during these moments, creeping amongst the shadows as nothing more than a shadow himself, he could believe without question that human beings had once hunted clawed, fanged beasts armed with nothing more than their bare hands, perhaps a roughly sharpened stick.

Evolution was never more evident to him than when he himself became as primal as his archaic ancestors must have been, pursuing the deadly unknown equipped with the mental and physical finesse of the most lethal predator.

Pressing himself against the shadowed wall of the closest apartment building, Will slipped into an effortless crouch, his gaze, having quickly adapted to the early-morning darkness, focused on the street that stretched emptily before him. Nearly ten minutes had passed since their first encounter with one of Thomas's Locomoticons, and despite the creature's languid clumsiness and stunted intelligence, he, Robert, Grayson and Ironhide had been unable to locate it. It was as though, after slipping and slamming a mindless path through the alley way, strewing garbage and crushing dumpsters, the Locomoticon had disappeared.

Still swung low in his defensive crouch, Will suddenly froze. Some nameless sense, a strange love-child of his ability to hear and his ability to see, alerted him that Robert, Grayson, and Ironhide were returning from their individual investigations and were quickly approaching him from behind, if not close to him already. As if to prove this conviction, he saw two human-sized silhouettes slowly detach themselves from the enclave of shadow nestled at the corner of the building across from his own and pivot deftly amongst the urban rubble until Robert was standing at his shoulder and Grayson was huddled before him, one padded knee resting on the cobblestones, his weapon drawn as he kept a watchful eye on the immediate area. Not a second later, Ironhide, enormous and oddly obscure amidst the darkness, lowered himself until his head hovered only a foot or so above his own. Glancing up at his guardian, Will noticed that the Autobot had dimmed his normally bright optics until only the softest shade of blue luminescence was visible, reaching no further than what would be the cheekbones on a human being's face.

_|Main Street is clear,|_ Ironhide's gruff voice rumbled deeply within Will's ear. The weapon's specialist had, after some quick tweaking, added his own communication connection to Will's, Robert's and Grayson's headsets before the four soldiers had set off in different directions. _|I also saw no evidence of the Locomoticon's presence there at any point in recent time.|_

_|Preston Street's clear too,| _Robert added, his Cybertronian-range firearm cocked firmly across his padded chest. |_All its alleys were empty, 'cept for some loose trash and a bunch'a goddamned cats._|

_|Harrison's clear.|_ Although he did not abandon his position, Grayson's helmeted head swiveled around as he glanced at Will from over his shoulder. |_All its adjoining alley ways are clear as well.|_

Will let out a disgruntled sigh as the others regarded him in expectant silence, his visored gaze stop-starting across the empty street, the shadowed apartment buildings, the littered alley ways. |_Where could the little fucker have possibly gone?|_he whispered furiously, tapping one gloved finger against the butt of his Cybertronian plasma cannon.

After one, last visual sweep, Grayson pulled himself up and out of his crouch, taking a step backward so that he stood beside Robert. _|What I want to know is how something that can barely walk a straight line is so goddamned _pro_ at hide-and-go-seek_,| the young soldier muttered, absently rubbing the barrel of his locked weapon against his thigh. |_Considering the thing's as dumb as a door knob, the four of us ought to have found it by now._|

|_Maybe all this zombie shit is a joke._|

Will, Grayson and Ironhide looked to Robert, eyebrows and optic ridges raised in question. Beneath their curious gazes, the soldier shrugged sheepishly. |_Problem is, the kid's right,|_ he said, cocking a gloved thumb at Grayson. |_We ought to've found that Locomoticon by now, 'specially considerin' that it ain't supposed to be much more than a wind-up toy. But we haven't. We haven't even found any evidence pointin' to where it was or where it could be, no crushed dumpsters, no cracks in the asphalt. That's why I think we're bein' played.|_ Robert Epps was quiet for a moment, glancing suspiciously up and down the empty, dimly-lit street, before continuing. |_I bet that thing is just as smart as Prime, Ratch', and the rest of you, Ironhide. I bet any amount of money._|

In the wake of what Robert had suggested, silence bloomed as Will, Grayson and Ironhide gave his idea serious consideration. It unnerved the soldiers, Ironhide included, to think that perhaps the slipping, bumbling, almost comical Locomoticons were, in reality, incredibly good actors with considerable cognitive skills, at least with intelligence enough to think of using mindless stupidity as a ploy. What better way was there to pump the Autobots and their human allies so full of confidence that at least one, most likely more, would overstep himself and become theirs for the ending?

Ignoring the troubled wisps of worry that tried to twine their ways around his thrumming heart, Will rubbed the back of his helmet and let out a dismissive snort. |_Well...there's not much we can do about that except to stay on our toes, huh?_| he said, watching as Robert, Grayson and Ironhide gave slow nods of agreement. Nodding rather quickly himself, Will then hefted his plasma cannon across his chest and dropped into a defensive crouch; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robert and Grayson follow suit, Ironhide lowering himself until he existed in the alley way's thick shadows as nothing more than a pair of softly glowing, blue orbs. |_At any rate, we can't stop now. As long as there's even one Locomoticon in Mission City, we have a job to do. Let's get it done._| He lifted a gloved hand and flicked it forward, his heightened senses registering the soft shift of booted feet as he, Robert and Grayson began to creep across the deserted street. A subtle rumble echoed through the pavement beneath him as Ironhide brought up the rear. |_Stay close._|

It took only a minute or two for Will, Robert, Grayson and Ironhide to stalk their way up the empty street, dodging the milky rays of the moon, their Cybertronian weapons pressed to their bodies and their heads constantly swiveling, searching for the disfigured silhouette with sickly, yellow optics. Reaching the street corner without incident, Will came to a stop, waiting for the others to reach him before continuing on to the next street. During the three seconds it took for his companions to appear by his side, Will observed the city block that spanned before him with tiny snakes of discomfort kneading uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

Although it was short, only a handful of buildings long, the block was wide and unbelievably dark. On one side of the street sat a row of decrepit-looking apartment buildings, their brick walls slathered with layers of fading graffiti. On the other side of the street, however, two enormous, abandoned factories loomed. These crumbling structures blocked out the dying light of the moon and cast the entire block into impenetrable shadow. It was as though someone had taken a massive pair of scissors and had cut a short slice away from Mission City's street grid, leaving a blackened hole as dark as that which is left by an extracted tooth.

With Robert huddled at his right shoulder, Grayson at his left, and Ironhide poised protectively behind him, Will abandoned his hesitation and led their small faction into the ebony.

He would have fallen, perhaps cracked his skull or broken his arm on the way down, if Ironhide had not stopped him.

His ignored discomfort bloomed into a bright, white explosion of fear when he felt his booted feet touch air instead of asphalt, the thick, rubber soles struggling to find purchase on a precipice he had not expected. Even with an alarm sounding relentlessly within his mind, _PULL BACK PULL BACK PULL BACK_, Will could hear crumbling bits of broken rock tumble over the edge and bounce off of the pointed sides of whatever mysterious cavern had suddenly opened in the center of the city block. Something within him, perhaps another strangely heightened sense that had remained unidentified, registered the fact that, while he was not going to be able to stop himself from plummeting painfully into the hole, he _was_able to stop Robert and Grayson. Snapping out his padded arms, he gripped a handful of shirt from either soldier and shoved his companions backward even as he was propelled forward, the fearful gallop of his heart slipping a grateful notch as he heard both Robert and Grayson collapse safely to solid ground.

With plumes of cold, earthy air thrusting against his cheeks, his flailing body poised almost perfectly above the gaping crater, Will suddenly felt an enormous hand catch and cup him, Ironhide's pointer and middle fingers wrapping protectively around his torso.

His breath whooshed from him in a trembling gasp as his guardian curled him reflexively to his armored chest. Trembling exhaustion suddenly weighing upon his bones, Will remained collapsed in the Autobot's massive palm for a moment, his chest rising and falling as a delayed wave of shock rippled through him, chilled him to the core. He could hear Robert and Grayson reacting, gasping through the head set's connections, their thick boots scrabbling against the gravel-littered pavement as the two soldiers crabbed clumsily away from the unexpected chasm. Will closed his eyes upon hearing them, gratitude seeping into every empty niche of his body. _We're okay. We're all okay._

When he managed to open his eyes, Will was met with Ironhide's optics, a pair of softly shining orbs stop-starting across his face. "Are you all right?" his guardian asked quietly, not speaking through the head set, but aloud.

Catching his friend's gaze, Will presented him with a small smile. |_I'm all good, bud._| He curled his gloved hand into a fist and pounded it playfully against Ironhide's thumb, loosening it as soon as it came into contact and laying it atop the Autobot's fingertip. He clasped it gently. |_Thank you._|

Ironhide returned Will's smile with one of his own. "You're welcome," the Autobot replied, twining his enormous fingers once again around Will's waist and placing his charge upon the ground beside him. As soon as Will was standing of his own accord, Robert and Grayson approached him at a jog, their weapons cocked loosely across their chests.

|_That was fuckin' close!_| Grayson whistled, his voice tinged with undeniable excitement. He patted Will heartily on one padded shoulder. |_You saved my sorry ass back there, boss man!_|

|_Shove off, assholes,_| Will snickered, giving Robert a solid push to the chest as his friend attempted to rattle his helmet. |_You're welcome, you're welcome. Just don't let that shit happen again._|

Their relieved banter quickly tapering off into a silence that was almost uncomfortable, Robert somberly appraised his companions, pointing toward the troublesome hole with the barrel of his weapon. |_So...what the fuck is that?_|

Before Will could respond, Ironhide took a large, rumbling step forward. |_Let's find out,_| the Autobot grunted, beginning to fiddle beneath the heavy armor of his chassis. Within a second, his headlights flickered on, casting enormous cones of bright light across the pavement.

The four soldiers froze.

What Ironhide's headlights had illuminated was a dirty street plagued with massive holes, each surrounded by a thick litter of torn asphalt, crumbling clods of dirt and shining bits of pipe. There were at least ten in all, every single one tunneling deeply within the ground, the messy openings thick with shifting shadows.

There was a soft _click!_ as Grayson tilted his helmet backward, revealing a young, smudged face that was trickling sweat and very, very pale. His eyes were gleaming black marbles surrounded by identical pockets of exhaustion-bruised skin. "What the _hell_is all of this?" he squawked weakly.

The answer formed suddenly, solidly, within Will's mind, pulsating against the curve of his skull: _They're rabbit holes._

Beneath his booted feet, the ground trembled.

* * *

_Agreeing to be Will's guinea pigs was easily the worst decision we could have made,_he thought to himself grimly.

Peering at his companions through his cracked facial guard, Bumblebee could see the worry, pain, frustration, and poorly-hidden exhaustion he too felt reflected in the dimly-lit optics of the other Autobots. Despite the fact that the numbers were tipped in their favor with he, Jazz, Hound and Ratchet facing just three Locomoticons, Thomas Duke's creations had not undergone several hour's worth of Cybertronian-range weapons testing. Granted, none of the Autobots had been severely wounded during the tests, but the fact remained that the ordeal had been both debilitating and unpleasant. He had finished it with a handful of energon-dribbling scrapes, a variety of dents, a ruined paint job, and the desperate desire to collapse atop his berth and re-charge for however long was required for him to feel decently online once again.

Thomas, however, had had other plans.

Quickly shaking himself out of his thoughts, Bumblebee barely managed to duck yet another clumsy, heavy-handed Locomoticon punch. Pulling himself down into a crouch, he raised his fists menacingly and watched with surly amusement as the half-sparked creature tripped over its own feet, its rusted arm swinging in the air where, only a moment ago, his head had been. After a second of panicked flailing, it collapsed to the ground, whistling despondently and scrabbling at the floor with weak, grasping hands, like a spider that had had one of its legs plucked off.

Bumblebee glared at the half-spark suspiciously, creeping toward it with his tightened fists remaining cocked protectively before him. Once he was close enough, he slammed one balled hand into the writhing creature's shoulder with all of the force he could muster, leaving a satisfying dent. Furious confidence mixing explosively with every other emotion flickering through him, each as potentially powerful as a struck match, he began to batter the Locomoticon's backside with a volley of quick, hard punches, the clouts leaving visible craters in its rusted armor. Each time he drew backward to deliver another blow, his confidence, worry, pain, frustration and exhaustion twisted, burned, melted together until the combined sensations sparked into the ugliest, bloodiest shade of agonized rage.

Suddenly, instead of the rusted screeches of metal grating metal, the buffets rang with names, _Thomas Mikaela Optimus Antonia Sam Sam SAM_, with blurred faces that appeared within his processor, with familiar voices that whispered into his audials. Memories flashed before his optics, overlaying his brutal attack on the Locomoticon, who had begun to shriek, like a thin, opaque film - _Sam and Mikaela, their small hands clasped between them, observing him with wide, glittering eyes on the night they had first met. Antonia's pale, terrified face as she instructed Barricade to kiss her ass. Pilar, silent and sad, resting the tips of her fingers upon the screen shot of that single, bloody hand print. Optimus Prime flinching upon hearing his dead lover's name. Ironhide, his narrowed optics shining with defensive guilt, the evening Bumblebee had found him standing quietly in the hallway, listening to Tyler strum on an old guitar in one of the base's many empty rooms and croon to an audience he did not he had -_

_I'm FINE, do you hear me?_ the final memory, an incredibly painful end to that mental slide show, unexpectedly howled at him, made him cringe. It was, of course, of Sam, Sam with his tearing eyes, his terrified defiance, his glowing life lines. _I'm FINE!_

When the Locomoticon, pathetically dense and in a pained frenzy, clasped its trembling hands over its head and tried to worm away, Bumblebee halted his relentless battery, gripped its struggling legs by the over-sized ankles and dragged the wailing creature until he straddled it beneath him. His right hand loosening from its tightened fist and quickly shifting into his plasma cannon, Sam still wailing his convictions that sounded so much like accusations within his thoughts, Bumblebee reached down, grasped the Locomoticon by its quivering helm, jammed the barrel of his weapon against the back of its head, and pressed the trigger. There was a dull _bang!_; the creature's struggles instantly ceased, its optics no longer yellow, but black.

_I'm FINE, do you _hear_ me?_

Releasing the half-spark's shattered helmet from his grip, its hulking body slumping to rest lifelessly upon the floor, Bumblebee aimed his plasma cannon at its backside and began to fire. Smoking, bubbling burns appeared wherever the bright projectiles made contact; within seconds, the Locomoticon's shoulders and torso were nothing more than hot, noxious puddles of black liquid, specks of which flecked Bumblebee's own ruined armor with back-splatter. He, however, kept his pointer finger clasped down on the trigger, thick bullets of plasma exploding from its barrel in a spasmodic rhythm, until he could no longer hear his agonized, wild-haired, young charge screaming within his processor, _I'm FINE I'm FINE do you HEAR ME_, until he could hear nothing but a piercing whine that seemed to resound from the pit of his own chassis.

Finally, speckled with liquefied Locomoticon and trembling hard, Bumblebee staggered away from butchered creature, nearly tripping over its splayed legs as he attempted to step across its remains. As soon as he was standing safely beside it, Bumblebee suddenly kicked the enormous body and watched, still trembling hard enough to rattle his door wings, as it tumbled across the shattered floor, coming to a rest only when it collided with the wall. What was left of its shoulder rang loudly as it cracked against the metal panels, dousing them with a fan of hot, stinking droplets.

It was only then, his anxious quivering no longer so strong, his rage simmering down into something along the lines of detached horror, that Bumblebee noticed the silence.

Peering over his shoulder, his optics widened.

Although Jazz, Hound and Ratchet remained locked in their sparring positions with the two half-sparks, all five mechs were no longer actively fighting one another. Instead, his friends and their foes were frozen in place, varying degrees of shock playing across their faces as he and what was left of his unfortunate victim were observed carefully by every pair of blue and yellow optics in the room.

Beneath these curious gazes, Bumblebee fidgeted uncomfortably, his every insignificant movement incredibly loud amidst the silence, his baffled shame growing with each quiet second that ticked by. _What had gotten into me?_he thought to himself, shooting the decimated Locomoticon that lay only a few spattered feet away a glance.

As if to answer his question, the memory of Sam's small, thin form shouting up at him with his fists raised defiantly, _I'm FINE!_, reared its ugly head once more. It was as momentary as the afterimage left by a lighting strike, but Bumblebee still flinched as though someone had struck him.

Halting the desperate stop-start of his gaze, Bumblebee looked to Ratchet, meeting the medic's confused, almost disappointed optics with his equally confused own. "Ratchet - "

The single, spoken word broke the paralysis that had lay draped over the Autobots and the two remaining Locomoticons suddenly and forcefully. One Locomoticon, the larger of the two, tore Hound from where the scout had been resting upon its back with his arms tightened around its stub of a neck, and dropped him unceremoniously to the floor. Then, with a lithe speed unknown to the half-sparked creatures, it ripped both Ratchet and Jazz away from its companion and nonchalantly tossed the two surprised Autobots into a noisy pile atop Hound. Without pausing to regain its composure or to even lift a hand to help pull the smaller Locomoticon to its feet, it turned to face Bumblebee, its dim, yellow optics locked upon his face.

Before Bumblebee could register what was happening, the two Locomoticons began to lurch clumsily toward him, rusted arms outstretched, over-sized digits flexing menacingly, as though the simple, half-sparked creatures wanted nothing more than to tear every limb from his body as slowly and as painfully as possible. He had barely managed to cock his fists in front of him before an explosion of grating metal diverted his bright gaze away from the incoming Locomoticons. Within a second, Ratchet, having effectively disengaged himself from the writhing pile of Autobots, wrapped his arms around Bumblebee's waist and brought him abruptly to the ground just as the half-sparks propelled themselves forward in a clumsy, shrieking leap. The medic curled Bumblebee to his chassis, ducking his head protectively above the scout's own, and observed the Locomoticons' slow descent to the floor only a handful of feet away from where he and Bumblebee sat crouched together.

As soon as the mindless creatures made loud impact, they began to swing at, scratch and punch one another, each mistaking the other for the young Autobot who had so brutally ended the stunted spark of their companion. Taking advantage of the mutual misunderstanding, Jazz and Hound quickly untangled themselves and pounced into the melee, landing blows and dodging those that were thrown without thought. It was in this way that the two remaining Locomoticons were defeated, saving extraneous Autobot effort by weakening each other to the point that, by the time the half-sparks realized that Bumblebee was nowhere in sight, it no longer mattered.

Even as the Locomoticons pealed pained shrieks and rumbles, their agonized cries echoing throughout the room like the wails of unhappy ghosts, Ratchet and Bumblebee remained where they had landed, the medic's arms still wrapped paternally around the small, trembling scout. The one time Ratchet had loosened his hold, Bumblebee's quivering had strengthened; he had dug his head hard against the older Autobot's chassis like a weeping sparkling. Ratchet, who realized quickly that something was wrong, did not attempt to pull away again. Instead, he stroked the top of Bumblebee's helm, soothing him as much as he possibly could.

After first dismantling and then collecting the lifeless Locomoticon husks and placing them in a pile of bits and pieces, Jazz and Hound approached Ratchet, watching with compassionate curiosity as the medic gently tugged at Bumblebee's arm until the youngest Autobot, still pressed so close, pulled himself up, stood on his own. With one arm slung companionably around Bumbleebee's shoulders, Ratchet observed his friend, his bright, inquisitive optics stop-starting across Bumblebee's guarded expression. "Are you all right, little one?" he asked quietly, using a nickname that Bumblebee had not heard in an incredibly long time, but one which was still able to pinken his spark with an unexpected wave of sweet, simple love all the same.

Silent, attempting to regain his composure, Bumblebee nodded. His trembling had stopped.

Ratchet was quiet for a moment, carefully gripping the scout's chin between his fingers and giving his head, specifically his face, a thorough look-over, before nodding as well. "I am glad to see you are better," the medic stated soundly, presenting Bumblebee with a smile that was small, tired, but nonetheless sincere. "You had me worried for a moment."

Bumblebee slowly returned Ratchet's smile with one of his own. Yet again, a wave of mingled admiration and love for the medic swept through him, reminding him that, for all of his grumbling and down-talking, Ratchet had been, was, and always would be one of the few Autobots, other than Optimus Prime and Ironhide, who had cared for him since the day he had been discovered by their faction, dirty, starving, so very young...and determined.

_I am still determined,_ he thought to himself, his hands slowly clenching into fists. That terrible memory of Sam, tired and frightened, flickered once more before his optics. It had, however, become faded, the pain it brought no longer as sharp. His charge's defiant words, he suddenly realized, were not accusations, but cries for help. _I am determined to save Sam. Not just from Thomas, Diesel, and Soundwave, but from everyone who wishes to harm him._

Wiping a splotch of liquefied Locomoticon from his chassis, Bumblebee nodded to Ratchet a second time, more readily than he had before. As he did so, his plasma cannon slowly, confidently shifted into existence.

His expression grim but unwavering, Ratchet carefully met the gaze of Jazz, Hound, and finally, Bumblebee. "Let's find our friends."


End file.
